A Poem About Body and Soul
the body is still decent,
held together
by tight jeans
and a t-shirt,
bra straps
straining
against colored
and faded cotton
but the voice and
face are weathered
and cracked and
my mind summons
so many stereotypes;
chains of cigarettes,
ex-husbands, children
I need some tires,
she says and she
looks to an old
man walking in
my shop with
a cane and suspenders
and a baseball hat
that says the USS
something. his whole
body shakes as
he walks across
the showroom
floor and she
asks, are you alright
Dad?
he grunts, looks at me
I give him a price,
he shakes and
grunts, says go
ahead put em on
and she hands
me her minivan keys.
her fingers are
ringless and the
veins in her hand
are so blue and so
thin and her
dad, he rests
his whole shaking
body on my counter
and reaches for
his wallet,
retrieves a credit
card and flips
it on the counter
fast and steady
like some sure
blackjack dealer.