By Angela Noel
June 1, 2017
The man works on a car–fixes its engine, buffs the exterior–long hours of loving pains.
Maybe he smokes a cigar. Maybe he drinks a light beer. Or maybe it’s Pellegrino.
Maybe he has a family–a son, a wife. Or maybe a daughter, the apple of his eye.
Maybe he writes sonnets that touch the infinite in a journal hidden among the tools in his garage. Or maybe he listens to mixed tapes of Madonna and Beethoven on an old, grease-stained boombox.
Every day . . . every hour . . . he loves the car more. Each bead of salty sweat escaping his brow is a tear dropping. Continue reading “Mechanics of Art and Poetry of Work”
