The Final Tour

I admit I was miffed – near the end of my shift
when my radio squawked a request
for just one final run ‘til my workday was done –
to a house with an east-side address.

I was slightly perturbed when I pulled to the curb
and I anxiously tapped on my horn,
then I started to go when my fare failed to show –
but my dutiful sense left me torn.

I was Irked as a crab when I climbed from my cab
and proceeded to knock on the door –
then my cause to rejoice was the sound of a voice
and a bag being dragged ‘cross the floor.

I yelled my intent when a query was sent,
then a little old woman appeared –
she was dainty and frail with a lace-bordered veil
and a hat that the ‘40s revered.

I reached for her case while inspecting the place
and would find it suspiciously bare,
every table and seat had been draped with a sheet –
her possessions all packaged with care.

I was moved by her charm as she clung to my arm,
while we carefully walked to the car –
then I helped her inside for a leisurely ride
to a place that was not very far.

The lady confessed as our journey progressed,
though her body was on the decline,
there was one final tour that she had to procure –
she was close to the end of the line.

She didn’t seem sad from the short time she had,
said her life had been full and complete –
then she said, “By the way, my name’s Gracie May”,
and I said, “Glad to meet you – I’m Pete”.

With a trembling voice, she informed me her choice
was to travel a roundabout way –
if I’d ferry her down to an old part of town,
she would give me additional pay.

I couldn’t refuse her request for a cruise
and felt honored to be her chauffeur,
so I lent her my ear as she sat in the rear –
then I asked her what route she’d prefer.

Her mind was intact and she kept us on track,
being such an articulate guide –
there were places we’d go where she’d ask me to slow,
while she smiled and occasionally cried.

She stared through the glass as each structure we passed
brought expressions of fondness and pain –
for the most, she’d conceal how her thoughts made her feel,
but a few – she was prone to explain.

We saw her old stead was abandoned and dead,
not a pane in the place had been spared –
while the vision she posed – not a house decomposed,
was a home that two lovers once shared.

A lot full of wood where a ballroom once stood
was the place where a girl used to dance
in a scene that she cast with a ghost from her past –
a reflection of prior romance.

We ended our search at a neighborhood church
that would still look the same as before –
with a white picket fence where her wedding commenced
‘neath an arbor with roses galore.

She spoke of her life – of her time as the wife
of a soldier who served in the war –
of the union they shared ‘till his death was declared
by the ones who were keeping the score.

The son that she bore also died in a war
and she never would marry again,
since she had no desire to rekindle the fire –
she was faithful to only one man.

Along came the dawn – it was time to move on,
but at least we’d accomplished her goal,
then she slumped to the side for the rest of the ride –
seems our journey had taken its toll.

We reached the address and I have to confess
I was sad that our tour had to end –
then the nurses would show with a wheelchair in tow
to take charge of my beautiful friend.

She asked of the fee and I said it was free,
that there weren’t any costs to incur –
that the time we had spent was a cherished event
and that I was indebted to her.

She started to speak, but a kiss on the cheek
let her know she was more than a fare
and I watched with dismay as they wheeled her away –
it was just about all I could bear.

I dropped by the place just to visit with Grace
and make sure she was doing okay –
was the third time I’d show when the staff let me know
that my friend had passed early that day.

As sad as I’d be, I was happy that she
was now joined with her husband and son –
and I feel pretty sure that I’ll carry that tour
in my heart ‘till my time here is done.