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Poetry by Rachel A. Gold

Mechanic's Lament

Drew Hurley


I was sittin' 'round the station the other night
with my ears on channel 9
when I heard this sexy voice
squawks through the receiver
a soundin' like magnolia blossoms and honey.
I mean, this voice could melt the chastity belt off a saint,
and stir up the fires in any man alive.
Well, I could hardly keep from drooling on my C.B.
when I told her to sit tight,
I had the wrecker all cranked up,
and that this road runner was on the way.
Boy, was I sorry.
She was so ugly it hurt your eyes just to look at her.
Not just the run of the mill ugly, either.
This gal could make a good coon dog howl for mercy
and sneek off with its tail between its legs.
To make it all much worse, this ugly person
was all gushy and as nice as could be,
and was tryin' her darnest
to sweet-talk me into taking her home.
Well, let me tell you, I may be horny,
but I ain't desperate.
No thank you.
Just the thought of her makes my skin crawl.
Sometimes you just can't help bein' righteous.

.

.

The next day I was a workin' under the rack,
doing a brake job on this ole ford
when a foreign lady comes saunterin' in.
Now, this lady was both young and pretty;
I mean, so pretty you've got to try hard not to stare.
She sure did make my mouth water.
Anyway, I'm busy tryin' to put
new brake shoes on a rear wheel
when she slides over to me with that sexy wiggle of her's
and says, with this real sweet English accent:
"I think I have something stuck,
up under my skirt.
Could you help me, and see if you can get it out?"
I'm sure I don't have to tell you
what was running through my mind.
Was I ever wrong.
There was this huge boyfriend sitting
out there in her car,
and all she wanted was for me to remove
a little piece of a tree limb
that was wedged into her fender.
I sure did want to jam my limb into her fender,
but I don't think her boyfriend
would have understood.
Sometimes you just can't help being righteous.

.

.

A little later, that same day,
this here kid
comes boppin' into the station
and he is layin' down this heavy line
about the love of his life.
He was really sweet-talkin' some cutie.
How the shape of her body was just, soooo fine.
Well stacked up front.
With a dynamite rear end.
A real charmer, she was,
with a personality
that couldn't help but win friends.
So I says how I'd certainly like to meet
a sweet little somebody like that,
and then he promises to bring her by the station.
Well, I go back to work
and don't pay him no never-mind.
I've heard idle promises before, so I just let it pass.
Couple of hours later he's back,
and he says he wants to show me
the prettiest little lady
there is to see.
So, I pop into the back room,
hit the degreaser a couple of squirts
and straighten up my hair, a tad.
Then I walk out to the side lot with him
where I'm expectin' him to introduce me
to a young girl,
awaitin' in his car.
But, all there is is this damn car.
Can you believe it?
This kid had me fooled.
He was so hung up on this dinky hot rod
that I was droolin' like it was Farah Fawcett in the flesh,
and with very little else on.
What a pisser.
Sometimes you just can't help bein' righteous.

.

.

Well, a couple of days later
I am back at the station
just mindin' my own business.
Mind you, my luck with the ladies was only two kinds:
very bad, and none at all.
I mean, all the good lookin' chicks in town
must have died or moved suddenly
and left no forwarding address.
My love life was so bad I could have done
an "Ultra Brite" commerical.
Then it happened.
There was that wreck
down on Main Street and 43rd Avenue.
As soon as I heard about it on the police radio
I ran the wrecker down to see what I could do.
There was this really beautiful filly,
who must have gotten hit on the head or somethin',
'cuz after I got her door unjammed so she could get out,
she goes through this strange bit
where she is trying to kiss me and blow in my ear.
Hell, I'm tryin' to hitch her car up to the wrecker
so I can tow it to the station,
and there must have been fifty,
or more, people
there to eyeball what happened.
So, she comes on like gang-busters.
I tried to be real nice to her,
so I told her how I had this job to do
and besides, I didn't particularly like an audience;
sex was not my idea of a spectator sport.
Well, when I said "audience," she just flipped out.
She was plumb puttin' on a show for everybody --
struttin' 'round, showin' off that body.
Then she started takin' off her clothes.
Somehow she even managed to get my shirt off.
But when she went for my pants;
this just wasn't the place.
I had to draw the line right there.
So I tied her hands together
with some rope
that was kept in the cab.
This was when that smart-ass photographer
took the picture
which made it look
like I was tryin' to rape her, or somethin'.
And as much as I may have had the hots
for that cute little thing,
I was really tryin' to keep her off of me,
and all those witnesses
will tell you that what I say is true,
althought, I really wish it weren't.
About the only thing I can think of that could be worse
is to be locked into the world's largest wine cellar
and for me not to have a corkscrew.
Its a terrible thing to have to be righteous.

.

.

Being righteous is no big deal
and it is just fine for those who want it.
More power to you, if that's your bag.
But it ain't what I want.
Don't look like I got much choice lately, though.
Used to be that being a grease jockey
was a romantic vocation.
Not no more.
Then foxy chicks would come
to the station for a tune up
and the sweeter you'd make their engines
sound in one ear
the sweeter they'd purr up a storm in your other.
Oh, them beauties would come,
and come, and come some more, too.
Lately though, I couldn't buy a smile
with Cleveland and Grant together.
So, I guess we'll have to gouge up the prices on our labor, a bit,
cuz all the fun's been taken out of doing this kind of work.
It's not that I really want the money, either.
It's when there is no joy left in working
then you might as well settle for the next best thing,
and that, for me, is the folding green.
Frankly, I sure liked it a lot better the other way around.
But I guess I might as well
get as much out of fixin' cars as I can,
seein' how it looks like I'm goin'
to have to be righteous, in spite of myself.
That is unless, and until,
the next foxy lady comes along to tingle my tools
with a sure-fire cure
for this damn righteousness.



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Tuesday, 04-May-2010 14:47:47 EDT