driving mr right away

you open the car door
the rear
passenger side wearing
a black cocktail dress
and heels. it's all part
of the job. the chauffer's hat
is cocked jauntily as required
in the manual. as he takes his seat
his eyes travel over the seams
in your stockings. you're
bent over gathering his baggage
to stow in the trunk. he makes a mental
tic as you close the door with a small
click. you don't want to ask him
if anything is ok, because you're not
expecting a tip. so you don't.
when you get in you check the rearview
before pulling out into traffic. he's shifted
his seat so that you have to see him
behind your head, in the mirror.
he says turn here so you do.
he says turn there so you do.
if he'd give you the address this would be so much
easier but apparently he likes to direct. you think
of asking him if he would like to drive
but bite your tongue. a little trickle
of traffic stops the car at the top of a very tall bridge.
you have visions of someone up there without all this metal
around them. you think for a moment it's you
or it's him
or it's both of you clasped in a struggle
to save and end this trip once and for all.
the traffic moves on. you get over the hump
without once having moved your eyes
from the taillight in front of you.
still you can see him in your periphery. at the corner
of nebraska and main street he tells you
this will do.
you pop the trunk. he can get his own stuff out.
you don't ask him if there's anything
else you can do for him. you just drive.