Hands at 10 and 2
July 15 2022
The rental car smelled odd.
A mix of cloying, and chemical
and stale cigarette,
with a whiff of human sweat,
despite the sanitized surfaces
they boasted of,
the non-smoking policy.
It felt small
sat too low.
The door wouldn't close
unless I slammed it shut,
while the hatch stuck
and the uncomfortable seats
were ugly as hell.
I drove it hard,
not so much the racing car
of my fantasies
as the beater I'd always desired.
But on returning it
I said nothing of its attributes
when asked how it was.
Only “fine”
“how much?”
and “could I get a lift
back to the body shop?”
Perhaps because it was
perfectly fine;
those jack rabbit starts were fun,
the hard cornering
the not warming up
the winding gravel road.
And back in my own car
it felt like luxury
in my snug familiar seat,
as I backed gently out
eased into traffic
and drove in the slow lane
a little under the limit
hands at 10 and 2.
A fun little trifle.
True story, with the usual elaboration and omissions.
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