Blue is the cloth
In the tradesman's trade
A name on the chest
To distinguish from the rest
Of the blue trades clothes
Of the tradesmen
In those days
My flower was A
green coke bottle
Half-way up
With high octane
Squeezed in between
The banged around orange toolbox
And the blue vice
Cold black pit-
crank-case oozing
into the caged pale light
He adjusting the torque
Me clutching the cool ratchet
His fingers were thicker than
mine
Black below the skin
Gouged and torn
And one dying
Our own car was always
falling apart but
purred like a kitten
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