you called me up
because
you were stranded.i drove on 225
going 90 to save you.your car,
you said it was broken.
you're tears
couldn't cool
the overheating engine.i'm glad you called.
i'm a mechanic
of experience.
my car
has broken down too,
too many times
to keep count.i open the hood
as you wrap
your arms around
my waist for support.i know what i'm doing.
i fix your radiator:
the regulator
of the engine's
emotions,
its temperament.you tell me
thanks.you kiss my
cheek.you try to pay me,
but I reject your cash
because your words
are worth more.in my ear, you say
that your honda will
break again.
you smiled and said
that i was
the best therapy.
you promised
you'd call
me when you
were broken again.i sit by the phone
waiting for your call
for assistance.i want to help you
there are no
strings attached
to my needs to fix you.don't be afraid.
i know how to fix cars
just like yours
because i tinker
with mine.
YOU ARE READING
she likes the color yellow
Poesíamy soul in poem form. i'm not a good poet, but i've learned to be vulnerable.