Body Shop Poem by Ronald Koertge

Body Shop



When I come in, my mechanic is eating
lunch. He doesn't look over the top
of his newspaper.
I glance around, hoping that Miss July
with her sassy fife will distract me,
but his calendars
feature only a vernal wrench, saucy
timing belt, naked carburetor:
things that might make a robot humid.
Sitting across from his headlines, I feel
like the mechanic's wife: virtues ignored,
faults magnified, taken for granted . . .
It's all I can do to not clutch
the lapels of my robe and run into
the bathroom weeping.
Finally he listens. Intently. Leaning closer,
one hand on my trembling manifold.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Colleen Courtney 19 March 2014

A vernal wrench, saucy timing belt and naked carburetor: things that may make a robot humid. How wonderful is that! Humorous and so very well done!

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Ronald Koertge

Ronald Koertge

Illinois / United States
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