In the Car Shop

I shift uncomfortably in one of the worn vinyl covered chairs

In the waiting room of the car shop

Waiting for my Mazda’s emissions inspection.

As I open my laptop I overhear conversations

From the manager, from the receptionist

From customers who come and go, and

I feel like Walt Whitman wandering the

Broad avenues of Manhattan

Where the world came to him

And engendered his verse.

I hear “I smelled something burning,”

And “The pads are shot and you need

To have the rotors turned,”

And, “You’re all set and ready to go.”

The customers are men and women,

White, black, Asian, Indian, Korean, Hindu,

African and still others, and I think

Here I sit and

The world has come to me

And I don’t have to wander avenues

To hear it, to see it, to wonder

How so much does come to us

If only we know what to do with it.

Here in this microcosm of this car shop

On a windy and chill March afternoon

We are seeking a better life, an improvement,

A certain healing, a sense of wholeness,

An Epiphany,

A vision,

An engine powered Nirvana.

 

Dan Verner

March 21, 2016

 

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