Monday, September 8, 2014

Sketches - 20 (September 4th, 2014)

20.

Hot 4:45 PM at the tire store
sitting in an old chair next to
a pop-machine, garage bell
terse, silver-sounding, mechanical
and since the young mechanic
with the wax-curled mustachio
didn't manage to fix my tire
            ALL the way, I’m now
returned (no hard feelings) and
the older wiser manager says to
me in the all too loud mechanic
garage ‘There’s not a tire I can’t
                fix.’ as he knows
they don’t have a spare size for
a Chevy Cobalt, my tire now all too
small amongst hundreds of
larger more masculine tires
            black unwholesome
oil, grease, rubber
at this strange intersection
just as Leavenworth intersects with
highway 480.

Drove away from there with the
tire fixed and the old mechanic musing
over pillars and blossoms of black
smoke visible on the semi-distant horizon.

‘I wonder where the hell that’s all
coming from.’ the mechanic asked
the machine riddled air.  

(September 4th, 2014)

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