Ode to the Taxi Cab Driver

The hours are horrific,
His sense of direction uncanny.
His malodorous backseat
Has carried many a large fanny.

That guy on the corner--
"Where to?", no other question.
A good driver knows
There's more pay for discretion.

A gunshot or stab wound
Gets driven with haste.
When they prepay,
There's no time to waste!

Drop him at the ER,
Somewhere near the door.
At $2.80 per mile,
That is all he paid for.

The man in the lot,
His story, no one knows.
"Hey wait, Mr. Cab Driver!"
But silently he goes.

With a screech, he drives off
To the next airport or bar.
Wherever it is,
May the next fare go far!