really enjoyed Nick Piombino's piece posted at fait accompli about his days working as a taxi driver. which kinda reinforces an opinion I have that perhaps driving a cab is maybe the most ideal occupation for a writer in general, but a poet in particular. you have no boss, you move relatively freely and you meet all kinds of people each with unique speech patterns and habits. don't know. just a thought, really. there ain't no ideal way to earn one's bread whether you be a poet or no.

however, recently my mother-in-law was amused by a cab ride where the driver was a poet. do you mind if I recite a poem, he asked her. not at all, she said. and so he did, then they spoke of topics that listed toward the light in autumn in California, so-called stewardship by crummy politicians of its land, and so forth. but when my mother-in-law told me of her encounter with the taxi driving poet, I asked for his name. um, can't remember, she told me. then she began to sing a bit from an old Johnny Cash tune and went to the rest of her day.