The Caller

In the wee small hours of the morn,

Weary shoulders, droopy lids,

Headset in place, very forlorn

She waited with bated breath,

For the caller next,

And responded mechanically,

"How may I help you?" as was the text.

"Hello Darlin," he said benevolently,

I am looking for a fare,

Just don't ask me the destination,

I'd like to go anywhere.

"Not one of those again, I know the type," she thought,

How often the desire to be brusque had she patiently fought.

The incessant banter of his country's locales,

Of Hollywood, the sun-kissed beaches,

Of Marilyn Monroe and fairy tales,

Did little to lift her plummeting spirits,

And, her mounting talk time would not earn any credit.

"Er...Sir if you're not interested..." she began curtly,

"No thank you, ma'am, I'll let it pass,

I served in the US Army, lost both my legs in the Vietnam war,"

He said factually,

"But sometimes I like to know the fare,

To any destination, just about anywhere."