Tinkering

The showroom air seems uncomfortably cold.
Maybe it’s to drive us would be buyers
into the snugness and warmth of the cars on sale here.

The staff appear trustworthy
and sensibly equipped for any eventuality
in their matching high-performance
company issued winter coats.

Flawlessly polished vehicles,
unspoiled and untouched by human hands
become pedigree dogs in a show.

Poised and identically aligned for judging.
Or frozen and straining on the end of at some invisible leash,
eager to find some mystical far off field
beyond the gaping exit doors.

They sit upandbeg their absent owners,
to find just a few pounds a month more,
just for a couple of extra years.

Irony comes next.
Dragging her tools behind her.
she takes pole position with the vacuum,
surveys the shimmering bodywork,
the glistening metallic hues of our faithful friends.
Turning from the whole sterile scene
she busies herself as best she can
emptying the bins.

Finally, a receptionist skilfully feigns bubbliness
to announce to Mr. Jenkins, (as a mid-wife to a new father),
that his £300 ignition barrel is on it’s way!
A further £40 is owed.
should he also wish to purchase an ignition key
to render it of any use at all!
Congratulations Mr. J!
You must be very proud.

Matthew Coombe