Auto Repair

a poem

---

When you grow up poor, 
everything in your life
feels like a dull knife 
falling. You don't mean

to reach for the blade
but you end up bleeding
anyway. I remember sitting
in shitty cars as my mother

or father turned the key
and all we heard
was the click, click, click
of a broken ignition 

or piston or some sick
and mysterious part.
Then would come
the cursing and pounding

of the steering wheel,
followed by the slump
of shoulder and shame.
Decades later, my car

is dependable. I too often
take it for granted.
But, today. I'll celebrate
those moments when

the whirr, whirr, whirr
of a working engine
sounds like a church choir
singing to a gorgeous fire.