Working At The Car Wash. Poem by Tony Cooney

International men of mystery.
They won't discuss their history.
Dark haired men with sallow looks.
I assume PAYE and on the books.

No introductions as they start to wash.
They point to a sign " No plastic only cash"
Safe in my car though it's hot and clammy.
Then a face appears behind a soapy chamois.

Big blue hands, with skin sore and cracked.
I fail to not make, direct eye contact.
Then a crooked finger points straight at me.
Making a circular motion "give me money"

Next time you're passing through our town.
There's no need to shop around.
The cheapest car wash on any street.
But don't ask for a credit card receipt.