The Junker in the Garage

The Junker in the Garage

my Car
lifted
above
the cracked oil and grease blotted concrete containing only two lengthy cracks
on the rusted autolift in neighborBOY’s garage.
it sits NO slumps NO hangs next to a Second risen frame
this One similar to my 1969 Chevy Chavelle
only
in how
the engine is busted beyond my Paycheck. trust neighborBOY to offer to Spend
ALL his days pokING and prodING and turnING and rubbING under her skirt.
he opens Her shirt, tWISts the valves, hitS a few skrews and checks the camber thrust.
i hate his scruffyblondehair and callousedhands for being more intimate with my Car
than I am.
not often,
there are times when neighborBOY lets me SPLASH arms in the grease and work my hunk
of metal. though He has yet to move halfaninch on His own i can feel therushofadrenalin
of a streetlight barren highway in the distant kansas fieldflats
WHERE THE STEERINGWHEEL IS AN UNNESSESSARY PERK
Of a wiNding whImpeRing woNderOUs    wasteland    swiTCHbaCK
DEADLY ROCKY MOUNTAIN
PIT FALL

in the Driverseat I grasp the clutch … release the break… and imagine
the grind of paveless road to The West.
But
no.
In reality, when neighborBOY’s hands are free of motor oil, it will only be the go-between amid home and work.
No dust. No cornfield. No convex sky.
Only the revving associated with blasting 80 down a 30 mph DeathTraP.
As it STANDS no LAYS no HOVERS it exists like the neighborBOY beneath the hood:
potential – a classic MUSThave workinprogress – but I admit
it’s not the BOY
but the Car I am in love with.

© 2012 Lex Vex