Broken Blossoms (Mid-2008)

There is a flaw in this present tense;

he, under noontide's disclosure
leaves no shadow--
tinkering with
The Briggs & Stratton--
that refuses to fire.

weather-beaten push mower,
grease, grime, grass clogged...
fresh fingerprints--the demarcation,
of then and now.

she, stands inside the double-wide
swatting flies that settle
on the counter top's
brown spotted, yellow laminate--
that lifts at the corners--
cement, worn-out, released.

"Muggy," he thinks,
sipping a beer
as ice cold droplets
form rivulets--
trickling down his chin,
spotting the chipped enamel
of the motor's rusted housing

She stares out the window,
wipes her brow,
clammy forearm...friction,
eidetic,
giving rise to photography:

rough hands,
wayward, callous strokes,
unrefined without coercion,
but he'd made adjustments,
that had answered
the flutter she'd held within.

A faint smile fades--

watching his fingers glide,
unreserved, experienced,
now practiced and undivided
for carburetors
and butterfly valves.