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TAXI IN THE RAIN
by Ricki Mandeville

The city’s drenched, slow roll of wet wheels,
wiper-click metering the downpour.
Cabbie pulls over near the theater
to pick up a fare, careful not to splash
her legs—long dancer’s legs, likely just
a small role, though she’ll make a splash some day,
blonde as sun, big Broadway eyes, and those legs.
It’s not fair, he thinks, easing his yellow
bucket of dents to a stop, watching her
slide inside like a ballerina,
making scarcely a dent in the flat nap
of the backseat. She tells him the address.
He eyes her in the rearview. She doesn’t notice.
Poor hack. It rains harder. Fogged glass. Those legs.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Unless I count the fragments of poetry I write in my head, I don’t follow the common advice to “write every day.” But my muse, when she knocks, pounds hard, and I must answer. This poem came knocking in response to a suggestion by the poet Tobi Cogswell that I try writing a poem incorporating homonyms and homophones, per the Silver Birch submission call. This poem contains 6 pairs. I left my holiday breakfast untouched to write it. It seemed the right thing to do.

IMAGE: “Dancing in the Rain II” by Kathryn Trotter. Reproductions available at fineartmarketplace.com.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ricki Mandeville’s poems have appeared or will soon appear in Comstock Review, San Pedro River Review, Pea River Journal, Texas Poetry Calendar 2014 & 15, Penumbra and other journals and anthologies. She is a cofounder and consulting editor of Moon Tide Press and the author of A Thin Strand of Lights (Moon Tide Press). A speaker for various literary events, she lives near the ocean in Huntington Beach, California.