Putting down the disemboweled guts of a Honda
Twilight signals the garage's clanking buzz
Industrial strength cleansing gel squirted on permanently dirty hands and fingers
Or scrubbed like surgeons in a bucket of greasy water
Now to eat on the fly, one hand caressing a carburetor, another swatting crumbs off a uniform
The garage owner stubs out a cigarette as he gladhands a customer
Laid on top of the hood of an off road vehicle
A large plastic bottle of Coca Cola, submarine sandwich filled with luncheon meat, Swiss cheese, tomatoes etc., fruit, jello pudding in disposable containers
Other mechanics dart out quickly and return with burgers and fries or fried chicken
Work continues during and around eating
Like a poorly framed picture of action that does not cease
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem