Stuck traffic, a jam to end all jams

and bored rigid in a taxi, the counter

climbing breathlessly

up towards its own ticking Everest;

six in the evening,

a possible fight in the sunset eve

as tempers boil over

and there by St. George’s

Hall, a complex, but through my taxi

windows, silent and animated argument

began to unburden

itself in the Liverpool warmth.

As long as we sat there,

engine revving like a lion pacing

in its own cage, I expected the worst,

a fist fight,

perhaps a knife,

perhaps a gun,

would appear and silence the mood

of the city, come now ready the mourners…

yet instead one laughed, despite the heated exchange

and slapped the other on the back,

protagonist and hero, villain and central character

fighting for the smile that beamed and melted

the taxi window

and made me smile in return…

no fight here, not the place,

there is as much chance

of seeing a Dalek play saxophone

on the stairs leading to Big Ben

as the anticipated ugliness

we often imagine.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017