Poem: Taxi

he’s in the back of the car, as usual, and i’m his taxi driver. my son asks me if the day he was born was the best day of my life.

and i say“yes. of course”. 

“what about when you and mum got married?”, he quizzed.

“second. nearly as good. can’t have one without the  other”.

he nods. and i didn’t go on  to tell him that the third best day of my life was whe…