The clean, fresh
sheets. The fat cat
fed. The fish tank
tomorrow. Whites.
The final spin.
The heavy weight
of spotless silence.
No, no ring
tone near her beige
bedroom. Far past time.
The cream Eldorado
is locked, three deep,
in The Shop,
where the filthy,
full-lipped mechanic
lovingly
smokes menthols.
Her pretty ride
will still make
the night owl.
C.A. MacConnell
