She’d no front teeth, but said more than any otherUber driver ever, asked me after every story,Does that make sense? Her eyes Ubering off the roadas she checked mine in the rearview.We Ubered in the forests of her pitcherisk acres,Ubered on her many riding mowers,Ubered past the years her Pawpaw raised her up to hunt,so she’ll never go hungry, praise Trump,and good God, but our hearts hurt for the woman in the newswho Ubered from the Blue Ridge Trail.But you know, her own cancer-passed brotheronce rented a convertible just so her niece and nephewcould have something like a coaster ride. They perchedon top of the back seat, arms up, flew and laughedand laughed, and Lord, even I could remember the sun that day, like I Ubered down someone else’s street, does that make sense?