The Passenger

When attending a meeting of O. W.L. (Okanagan Writers League) one member suggested a challenge — we all write something on the same subject. In prose and verse “The Passenger” evolved in many ways. My version appears here.”

I think I have a passenger who rides through life with me,
An elusive sort of fellow that I never ever see.
He’s always there for company wherever I may go, .
He brings to mind the thoughts I need, though sometimes rather slow.

He looks after all my data banks and keeps my files so neat,
And sorting out my jumbled thoughts is really quite a feat.
I feed him all the things I learn in such a mixed up fashion,
But sorting it and storing it does seem his only passion.

Sometimes I have a question – a name I want to know,
If he doesn’t find it readily, I think him rather slow.
But actually he’s working hard processing all that data,
IfI’m awake orI’m asleep, it really doesn’t matter.

He keeps on searching faithfully through all my memory banks,
A boring sort of job to do that never gets him thanks.
Then finally he finds it in the jumble he’s been fed,
And when I least expect it then it pops into my head.

You may question what I’m telling you and think it’s just a joke,
You may laugh about my poem and have some fun to poke,
But if there is no passenger, the one I never see,
Then who is it I’m talking to when I talk to me?