Whitey’s Ford

Whitey give the pieces of the Ford wrong names
but he knew them by sight

by feel, hefting every damned one
in a greasy hand

folks said he was crazy
when he’d slither under her

amongst the dirt and spiders
spending hours

and didn’t say much
mostly just whistled

through his teeth.
It took forever

that hot day where
we were all so sweaty

the sweat tracked the grime
on our faces, all the way down

to our waistbands.
We looked like we’d pissed our pants.

The time his hand slipped off
the wrench, hit the fan blade

blood spattering across the motor
into  the oily muck. He jumped back

yelling Jesus Fuck
grinning up at us,

the curse we shared
a dirty secret

The Daily Post: Experimental

1 comment

Add Yours

Don't just stand there.