Uber Driver
By Karrington Garland
the black boy is an uber driver
& he speaks little
& breathes as if he’s not even breathing
while the low murmur of the radio station drowns out everything
except my heart beat & the whites of his eyes
he’s a ghost
& he offered me juicy fruit chewing gum
i politely declined with a smile on my face
trying not to laugh at the randomness that was this day
wondering how i found myself here
riding in my first uber down the bustling streets of capital boulevard
with a ghost of a man who’s ashen skin is black as night
& looks as if it’s taken more beatings than it can actually handle
as i gazed out the window i wondered how his life had been so far
i wondered if he was a college student
i wondered if his mother missed him
i wondered if he knew how dangerous his skin color was
i wondered if he pretended he was anything but dangerous
how did he live with himself knowing
the after effects of trumps america are after him
trumps america hated people like him people like me
i spent our thirty minute car ride questioning him
without even moving my mouth. it was as if he knew.
answering me with slight head nods
as he bobbed to the quiet base of the radio
or stark silence, stillness & a change of the radio station
as if he did not know how he got here either
like he couldn’t make up his mind on what he wanted his ghost to tell me
at the end of our journey, when we had reached my destination
i still knew nothing about him
knew not what to call him but black boy
& yet i felt as if i had known his ghost for years