Hurtling down the road,
With our eyes closed,
And our hands clutched,
The taxi dodges pot holes,
Speed bumps, pedestrians
And other vehicles;
All at high speed.
Our young driver has his arm
On the open window.
His attention is on his cell phone.
It is a relief when we have to
Stop at the frequent police checks
And pay the bribes.
We pass by other wrecked vehicles
That have been left where they crashed.
Every time our taxi swerves,
My adrenalin flows.
Every muscle in my body is screaming.
Jim reassures me that
It has been a good life.
When we enter a grid lock of traffic
In Asenboso,
I can finally lift my head and look around.
Boom boxes advertise, proselytize,
Or blare strong rock beats.
We inch by coffin makers,
And all of the hawkers.
Regrettably, soon we are through town,
And we are back at top speed,
Weaving, honking,
Passing on blind crests,
Or anywhere.
A black Honda SUV pulls in front of us
Forcing us to stop.
Men jump out and berate our driver
For being crazy and dangerous.
They politely tell Jim and I
To make our taxi Drive more safely.
Now I am totally petrified.