Sunday, 8 June 2014

The Afghan Taxi driver ...


When we go to the hospital by taxi, my dad sits in the front - he enjoys chatting to the taxi driver - 

He will admire the view from the top of Portsdown Hill - 

There, below us, lies the harbour - I can see its winding channels and mothballed destroyers - 

There's the city, where my dad spent his childhood - he can remember the bombs falling upon the narrow streets - 

Now, he's talking to our driver - the man tells us he comes from Afghanistan - 

We lost my brother - he was working for a German company - he was driving in his car - they shot him, the Taliban - 

The driver glances up into the rear view mirror of the red Aqua car -

They said we were spies - yes, it is good here - but, you know - home -

Soon, we're stopping at the main entrance to the hospital - 

My dad's digging his hands into his pockets to find some money -

10.23
June 8 2014

Havant

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