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I spend a lot of time traveling and have many conversations with taxi drivers. One day in Melbourne, I was talking to one particular lady driver about the new casino that had just opened in town. She told me some horror stories about how much money people (who couldn't afford to) were losing. She reckoned it had got that bad that she now asked to see peoples money when picking them up at the casino. This poem is about one of her fares.
Cash On The Dash
I tried to go home the other night,
After I'd been just a little rash,
But the cabbie stopped me with her words,
And said "Put your cash on the dash".
She'd been caught too many times,
Had too many rides that were unfare,
And she demanded to see my money,
Before she would take me anywhere.
"You've got that look of someone",
She went on to explain,
"Who had the shirt on his back,
And washed it down the drain".
So I scraped the bottom of my barrel,
It was the last twenty that I had,
And realised my kids were out of luck,
For drawing a gambler as a Dad.
I should have been going home,
With my hard earned weekly pay,
But I'd been on a roll,
had casinoed all night and all day.
And when I got home,
My wife showed me the door,
But then she opened up again,
Just like all the times before.
She had to go to the welfare,
With my cap in her hand,
And bought the food with the stamps,
From this great and promised land.
And I've made her a solemn promise,
"No, I'll never do this again",
(That is until the next time,
But I'm going to clean up then).
Copyright Allen Jesson 2000
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