TAXI

By Rhiannon Owens

In a far off corner of my mind I see this playing out,

but I'm too drunk and numb

as he parks the taxi in a secluded spot.

I register vaguely, through an alcohol induced fog

that it's somewhere near the canal;

which is near home

but not near enough.


My white, charity shop nightie is torn

and seems less and less' ironic' by the second.

My fishnet tights crisscross over my bleeding, grit studded knees.

Lipstick a red slash,

a garish grin

that fails to reach my sad, mascara-smeared Panda eyes.


He gets in the back

pawing at me, and he stinks

(I remember that!) and I don't like it, but where can I go?


A sad, fat nub of flesh pokes dismally at me

but forcefully,

it hurts…

and everything is wrong.

I'm in love, but not with him…

and I should be home safe now

all tucked up with my battered, old Teddy Bear,

I'm not the adult I profess to be.


Where are my friends?

I block out the grunting and thrusting.

It's over, but it won't ever be really,

a naive, little light has blinked out.


As he clambers off me

he says

'Did you come?'

There are no words.

I mutely shake my head.

Did you come?

I want to laugh but it would choke me.

Did I come?

No NO! He did though…


He drives me home,

turns to me and grins

with his stained teeth

that I long to smash in,

I want to beat him in the face

'til it's just a bloody pulp.


'I don't suppose you'll be paying that fare?'

He smirks.


I don't suppose I will,

though it feels like I've been paying it

ever since.


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