Mather Schneider

Post image for Mather Schneider

by horrorsleazetrash on September 30, 2010

Mather Schneider is a cab driver from Tucson with a sexy Mexican girl friend. He is 40 years old and has been published in the small press since 1994. Schneider has a book out at and one forthcoming from NYQ Press.


Daytime cab drivers
work 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.
and have to share their cabs
with the night drivers
who work 6 p.m. to 6 a.m.
If you don’t get along
with the other driver
it can lead to problems—
you don’t want someone
who will short you on fuel
or leave condoms on the floor.
In an ideal world
you would bring the cab
to the other driver
on time, clean,
in perfect running order
and with a smile.
Of course in an ideal world
you wouldn’t be driving a cab
at all.
You would more likely be on a beach
in Mexico
doing a line of coke
off the bare ass
of a 16 year old hooker.


Little fundamental
Christian girl,
I’m afraid that Amishy
dress betrays you at every curve.
I’m having visions of Moses
parting a great pink sea
and the first man crashing through
a forest in first rut,
unsatisfied until his blunt
blade flushes a quail-
cry from the throat
of the first woman.
I want your dark
braids in my teeth,
the same braids that shake
when you get worked
up over age-old contradictions.
Your face is beautiful
with your head lowered
toward the book you always carry,
but can words really
answer for all of this?
And your body so
girlish beneath
those thick home-made folds.
The more you cover up the
more alluring you become,
and you can just forget
about hiding from evolution.
Our fates are locked together
like our bodies in my dream,
where only a lightning bolt
could come between us, and leave us
like this,
heads bowed
over desks,
cutting up
our piglets with a savage zeal.


is written on the billboard
by the Whataburger
at Benson and Freemont.
The lady in the back of my cab says,
I used to read to my kid all the time
but the little slut ended
up getting pregnant when she was
14 and running off with the guy. Then
after she had a miscarriage she
came home, got fucking
pregnant again with another guy,
but she was hooked on crack and the baby came
out dead.
That really messed
her up, but it didn’t stop her sucking
on that pipe, fuck no.
Eventually she got clean and
got pregnant again even though
the doctors told her not to
(she refused to get her tubes tied)
and this time the baby came out healthy,
but some lady from the state
came and took the baby away
because of her history and she
started in on the drugs again.
After that she got clean again
and went to court like a hundred
times to get her baby back.
She finally won custody
and was so happy, you know,
but two weeks after that she shows
up at my house at three in the morning
high as a kite, says she can’t
handle the baby,
it’s raisin’ Cain.
And so I took that kid like she was
my own,
and I read to her every night
just like I did with her mother,
and I’m telling you it
ain’t gonna matter,
and pretty fucking god damned stupid
to think so.


My Mexican girlfriend says she likes me
because I am not macho.
She says Mexican men are too macho,
too brutal and mean.
We are at the supermarket and I am thinking
about how earlier she had begged me to fuck her in the ass
demanded I bite her tits
until they were bruised and
mushy plums,
how she led me
to force her to
her stomach
and squirmed until I held
her arms behind her like a vice,
how she screamed STOP
and then when I stopped she asked
me why I stopped,
how afterwards I was afraid
I hurt her
until I realized she was smiling,
and how she turned
to me and curled up in my arms
and went to sleep.
At the store I reach my hand
into the cooler
for a twelve pack of beer
which makes her frown, not because it is beer
and that I might get drunk on it,
but because it is LIGHT beer
like I am some kind of
girly man
who sits down
to pee.


Aside from the rich
there is another royal cast
in America,
those privileged to live
without working,
a royalty fed by disability
early social security
wellfare or
crazy money.
The truly disabled and insane
are relatively rare
and many are only disabled because
of their own laziness
or deliberate abuse,
while millions kill themselves in the
work-a-day grind
and feel a shark-bite out
of their paycheck each week.
It’s hard to swallow, especially when you know
most are fakes,
drama queens,
scumbags who claim they can’t work but somehow
play volleyball, they don’t
want to give up
anything: they own their own homes,
never live a minute without
cable tv, good food (food stamps), beer,
swimming pool
and personal chauffeur
(cab drivers like me)
to take them to the state-covered dentist
or state-covered doctor.
I wish I could claim “headaches”
or “anxiety”
or “depression”
or hurt my big toe and just kick
back and watch tv forever more,
or boom my rap and pop
my meds with brand name whiskey
on the paid-for sun porch,
giving an evil glare to
the work-a-day locals
plodding by like shackled slaves
to a mile high tomb.

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