taxis

Illustration by Mahgul Farooqui

Steering Wheel

A poem about female experiences of riding taxis.

Dec 3, 2017

A poem by Ayah Rashid
They drive cabs, ubers, lyfts They have skin ranging from 6.5 almond to deep dark Identical perked up first gazes Last week their collective grins Broke my back
Cough up my origins whenever I stretch a belt across my chest to contain the depth of my irritated sigh — They need proof. Bang on my spine Get me to choke on where I’m from They never believe me. For them America could not be imprinted on
the backs of my wet palms at birth.
Some ask me when I am coming back from my errands — They desire to pick me up later.
Some of them twist the knob
of the radio, fuzzy Ariana Grande emerging.
Tearing down the road like a boat splitting an ocean belly in half I rock side to side, gaze fixed on the horizon so I don’t get men-sick
Am I married — sometimes I say that I am: My husband awaits with the porch light on, a gun cocked ready to shoot them between the eyes for letting theirs wander
A woman like me must be possessed by an overprotective man: Bigshouldered, Huskybearded, Constantlytexting, Frownlipped
They all look in the rearview mirror before switching lanes.
Am I student — what do I study Not medicine or law What a shame
One of them buries his cowardice far enough down into his balls to sigh and exclaim his deep feelings for me which he acquired in the 187 seconds spent gazing at my nose instead of the traffic ahead. He says I Will Come to America With You.
The walls of the vehicle drop I drown in invisible hands. They scrape under layers of my epidermis between Every pore — A camera eyes the whole exchange but no one will ever see how disgusting I feel
They all press on the brakes at yellow lights.
Does my father live here. For them he does — Yes, my father is in the passenger seat, Waiting for my signal,
save me I inhale exhale
My life is theirs for 12 dirhams 25 phils. They tease me, make suggestive comments. WhatcanIdo whatshouldIdo whatshouldIsay
Tears, in some of these interrogations, are far too precious to shed, Although wetness builds In my brain, my lungs
Please, break my eyes, blindfold theirs I know I am beautiful, friendly
But where is their dignity
If a male accompanies me he becomes My brotheruncleboyfriendloverhusband To keep the ones who drive cars at bay They might glance lustfully but that is all
I want my tongue to wrap around an ocean wave One that splinters the windows of the cab, uber, lyft One that scoops them up and screams in their ears I am not your specimen That is none of your business That is inappropriate No thank you Drop me off Right now on the side of the road No I will not Pay you for taking me this far — But the salt water in my gut remains still
If only my silence alone could keep their Armrests, running meters, seat belts, prying eyes
That want to unwrap my scarf, smell my face, Brush my fingers far away. Eyes unhinge me I sit in the vise of _______ seconds.
I feel As though I have not bathed in years I am a permanent resident of the back seat Glad their sticky hands never left the steering wheel
Ayah Rashid is a contributing writer. Email her at feedback@thegazelle.org.
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