Poetry: Working At The Rear

D’you know where I am to put this one gear?

I only heard father orating at the rear, with me in his garage. I was a kid, back then.
No, Pa, I don’t think I know, Pa, and though even if I did—
He says, I said only to come if you could help me, son. He throws the gear away From his own motorcar.
Stop. It’s only one gear, Pa—
And this bloody one, he points at it and says, motorcar will fuck you over. It is a half done mistake, son.
Stop! Stop what? Why might a father
like you, Pa, ask me, Pa, your only son for aid?
I growled at my father working at the rear, and knew back then, with me in his garage,
I wasn’t a kid.

Jay Carmichael


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