The cold rain threatens to freeze me
into a popsicle
I'm on a dark Brooklyn street
halfway under a 1970 beaten up Pontiac station wagon
dim flashlight beam scattering off its scarred underbelly
trying to fix a sieve of a radiator
smell of antifreeze mixing with sleet and sweat
jeans soaked to the bone and stiff with ice
my winter raincoat smacking the bumper
like a wet sail with every gust of needle wind
fingers achy, bruised by repeated hand slips and curses
torrents of ice cold water burn my back
another turn of the screw on the clamp.
There.
She asks, business like, is it going to be long?
No matter.
She agreed to go skiing with me!
Author notes: wc 119 A completely true story, and the she is my wife of 38 years https://allpoetry.com/contest/2783011-Breakdown--
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