Time Caught in the Broken Things

We thought those old cars
could never die
smiles grimly given
tobacco juice brown and bitter
curses drawled under the breath
the foundation of things.

–broken crankshaft, cracked engine block
rusted out rad and shot carb–
like a wind-up alarm clock
all the innards rattling
teasingly full of promise, familiar, and useless.

Charger, Mustang, Cutlass, Duster
Malibu, Impala, Trans Am, Nova.

Fathers and Grandfathers, tools laid out
radio softly crooning, the sweet
scent of oil, grease
“bring the light over here and
blast that damn nut off the bolt.”

She appeared as a spot of sunlight
a ray that found its way
through the cathedral covering of elm
a casual step,
coming from beyond
on an endless sidewalk
summer dress with silk scarf
thrown over the shoulders and neck
catching the breeze
giving form to a passing moment.

We quieted.
one wiped his mouth clean with
the back of his arm,
one grabbed a rag at the hip
rubbing oil from his hands
I pulled at my shirt
trying to catch the purity of the air.

She looked up and away
at the leaves and birds that
dance in the blue sky

And we hid
behind the yawning hood
peering cautiously over.

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