domingo, 9 de março de 2014

Hope street mechanic

Wet meadows surround the road
freshening the world before town
Vehicle old but the land in it's youth
Riding into town like a birth

Sun invited by the mayor
Shop front grins
Wheels and gutters kiss
At the lips of driveways

Company signs exaggerate in color
Overalls drape down from the hips and filthy white t shirt
Of the oiled stained mechanic smiling up at the sun
In a town where people fixed things

The huge garage was mostly always empty
 For Every car that the mechanic fixed never broke down again
If it wasn't for check ups he'd have no work at all
Children would stay children for many decades in that town

And when you left town on the single same road you came in on
You'd feel as though you were doing something wrong
Betraying yourself
Regressing, even though your car was in the best working order ever.

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