Under the Hood

The guys are tinkering with cars
and I’m in the field,
face to face with white blossoms
of a pin-cherry.
They’re up to their elbows in grease
while I inhale the sweet and sour of nature.
Any moment now,
they’ll have the damn beast moving again.
My vehicle, prunus pensylvanica,
is always where it is, where it needs to be.
Each of the guys learned these skills
with their old man looking over their shoulders,
barking orders, patting backs when they got it right.
I had no father.
I learned from the emptiness behind me,
the silence, the un-slapped shoulder blades.
It’s an unbroken line keeps the wheels moving.
A simple fruit is all the untended branch will bear.

~ John Grey

John Grey is an Australian born poet, US resident since late seventies. Works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in Slant, Briar Cliff Review and Albatross with work upcoming in Poem, Cider Press Review and the Evansville Review.

Read more of John Grey’s poetry:
The Town Below
Poem for the Birds
As Night Approaches
One Finger in the Water
So How Are We Together?

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