All things conspire to bring me here.

It is a good place to be—Jason’s,

Jason’s Automotive across the road

From the Assembly of God church. 

Jason is changing the oil and filter 

On my car, a job I would do myself 

If it were not so low to the ground. 

He has to put it on a lift. Plus, I have

Known him since he working for Ron, 

Back in the day when it was Ron’s—

Ron’s Automotive. He knows the car. 

He is my automotive guardian angel,

And this is time and money well spent.

Here I sit, in almost air-conditioned comfort, 

Among the magazines dating from 1997, 

The shop manuals which are even older,

The fly paper graced with flies that died 

In the Nixon era, the water-cooler with no cups,

And a lot that is more junk than not. 

We try not to make eye contact, for if we do 

We will get to talking on the weather, 

And there goes precious time. His, not mine.

I know better. Here, where every last thing

Is marinating in grease, I am comfortable.

I have handed Jason the key. Read that

Any way you like. For one hour, give or take, 

I am on hiatus. I intend to enjoy it—

Every sweet, Castrol 10W-40 lubed moment.