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August 6, 2013


My arms are hard and sinewy I clean cars.

Put your body in my hands, let me soap and caress every line and curve.
You could stay inside and watch me
I love to see my reflection in my handiwork it justifies my whole existence.
Rather like buying the largest items on offer in the supermarket.
Hauling them heavily home – I feel I’ve shopped well.
Nothing worth possessing comes easy.

I see the water pearling off the panelling.
I chamois shine quick time to avoid streaks.
I clean in a sequence, an order.
Each vehicle is mapped out for invasion.
Starting with the roof and moving on
I sweat silently inside my Velcro sealed suit.
I deftly deal with the bonnet and boot.
Doors in the shade and sunny side.
Don’t interrupt with a roof rack.
When I lose myself I just seem to glide.

The thoughts, my dreams have a special place,
Each day more precious, I have to protect them.
Like my hands… yet I never wear gloves.


One Comment leave one →
  1. August 6, 2013 9:35 pm


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