top of page

Taxi Driver Savior Complex

Poetry, Catherine Stump


Potbelly politics wrapped up

in silk, Cuban cigars cradled

in forefingers. Muscular

ex-militaries straining their

suits, egos bruised by

autopsied fathers. Blood

money pensions parading

through parking lots,

appearances, like bleach-bottle

wives, manipulated by

stacks of rolled dollars.


She forgets how they feel,

when she reflects on each meal.

Forgets the curve of their

currency disposed of in spite.

But she remembers His

scent, His lack thereof;

no pomade, no vices, no

gunpowder, no grime, no

cologne choking on arching

collars or thin lips bruised with

bad wine. Just his mother’s

detergent and dollar store

deodorant, smile sucking on

police station peppermints; he

offered her one. She was

always known to never refuse.

 

Catherine Stump is located on the outskirts of Philadelphia and is the current recipient of a creative writing scholarship. She needs a lot of work and some TLC, but she's got a lot of charm and good lighting. Just imagine what you could do with all this great counter space.

Commentaires


bottom of page