Though he had to help his father in the garage,
the silence was difficult for him to manage.
He took the wrench, found its correct socket
to loosen the head bolts, he did the same
with bolts securing the oil pan,
scuttling across the cement floor on the scooter
splotched with stains of dirt, oil and grease,
then washed his hands in the bathroom
off to one side with its always-last-year’s-
nude calendar, and came out to inhale
the smoke of his father’s last unfiltered Camel.
From now on, he declared, filters only.
Then he added writers had to know all
there was to know in this small world.
(11 November 2012)
copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander