The Refugee

The embarking passengers ran to the taxi rank and opened the door pausing just long enough to flick water from the rain soaked umbrella before they climbed into the cab. The driver, wearing a checked shirt embossed with the logo “13 cabs” on the collar asked, “Where to”? “Recital Centre Kavanagh Street South Melbourne”. The reply was sufficient information for the driver to perform a quick U -turn, taking advantage of the sudden break in the traffic. In the first two hundred metres the wheels bottomed out of every water filled pothole on the city road. Suddenly the female passenger cried, “Stop! I have lost Il Cannone Guarnerius. I thought you had it”, she wept to her male companion. “I have”, he calmly replied, as he flicked aside his overcoat and showed her the violin case resting on his lap. “That was close. Ok you can keep going”. The diver turned to her and asked, “When we get there can I play with you? You play? “First Violin in my homeland orchestra. I always have my Stradivarius with me, but since I came here as a refugee I have to drive this taxi”.

Image ref.

No sound was made recording this scene. Tell me, what music best suits this scenario?

If you liked this piece then I hope you can find something else to like before you leave.

Lost in childhood

Mrs James was a big woman.

At Church socials,

I now ask,

Did she deliberately

Attempt to kill young boys?

To mix the crowd


We changed partners in the,

Pride of Erin,

And by progressive twirls,

The Barn Dance.


I had been

Unwillingly jammed tight


Those girls.

At those dances.

(For levity

I use name Christine

Calls her ample bosoms


Many decades later.)

Tonight –

As she approached –

She would again

Crush my face betwixt

Her body.

My boyhood fear


I would


Wedged in the flesh

And suffocate.

The music stopped

And I

Grew to


The unfounded fear

Was want of