The Driver
She was beautiful.
She still was beautiful.
Lovingly his hand caressed her black curves.
Sixty years.
Sixty years already?
He remembered the day he first met her; how he fell in love.
He remembered when they went out the first time.
Her trembling, responding to his hands.
Sixty years is a long time.
Together they had served.
He remembered when the old lady was a young child.
They had taken her out.
To the park.
They waited while the child and her nanny walked beneath the trees.
Ice cream spills, lovingly wiped off.
Then came school.
They had taken her every day.
Books thrown in; boyfriends too.
Music on the radio, stolen kisses.
He always looked away.
The wedding!
He had dressed her with garlands.
The white flowers painting promises on her black skin.
The young couple laughing.
He was proud.
They had shared sadness.
The funeral.
How they took the lady to the grave.
They were first in line.
Behind the hearse.
Today was their last day.
He was old, she was old.
Too old to serve.
He drove her home.
One last time.
