Mechanics
dad rode motorcycles
through west virginia
mountains gathering speed
in the stillness of wheels
yet you are afraid to change
oil or fix your slow traction
of time– anything mechanical
is coiled magic in function.
the broken-down car sputters.
the ghost lays on cardboard
leaking, dripping synthetic
black splotches on concrete–
no knowledge remains.
there is a rattle
in the carburetor
when you drive
***
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Photo by Didier Jansen/Flickr
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