Repair Shop

It’s hot

I’m walking with a hat

smell something fried

The dusk is just about to

Turn pitch black

The dusk into night 

The door is open

And I can see inside  

The men working on cars,

Tires

to the side of

The building

One man walks across

I wonder if some

are lying under 

cars

I imagine them sweaty

He is just about to lower the blinds

But glimpses my eyes

And smirks

His fingers holding

The pole 

The others take

Notice

and

they invite me in.

And close the blinds.

And I sense

the mess 

Of the shop

lubed tools

And oil

Hot breath

And the hard body

Of a car

Against mine