Your Uber Eats driver died on his way to you.

 What if your Uber at midnight,

With stupid drinks and candies,

Died on his way to you—

Lost not to the night,

But to a system that runs on fumes,

Burning the dreams of the ones who steer it?

The driver, eyes hollow,

A clock ticking behind his ribs,

Felt the weight of a thousand passengers—

Their laughter, their apathy,

Their carelessness stuffed in the backseat.

A delivery of indulgence,

Unthinking, unearned,

As he calculated the cost

Of his rent, his meals, his breath.

Who cares if the drinks make it

When his hands shake

And the road blurs ahead?

And what of the cities,

Stacked with lives like matchsticks,

All waiting for someone else to spark their joy?

Candies on the floor,

Glasses cracked in a ditch,

While above, the billboards hum

With promises no one can afford to believe.

So ask yourself:

When the ride doesn’t come,

When the night stretches wide and silent,

Was the cost ever just yours to bear?

Or does the world break down together,

Engine light flashing,

Waiting for someone to care?