Pat Murphy’s Auto Service

You go in for a brake squeak
and the catastrophic fizz begins,
a huggermugger motherfucker of
the caliper assembly you didn't know
you had, not to mention the penchant
for doomscrolling as fluid levels shrink,
no oil on the dipstick. Faulty
yet lively is how he describes your
wiper blades. Love is worth
the grief, just bleed
the brakes a bit and venerate 
the black earth in all its beefy glory.
That should calm the storm.
Less death, fewer crows.
Now the lunch crew is lubricating
your chassis in a sexy dream
unusual for a person your age.
Let's face it, all editors
want the dream to be true, 
the glitch a better fit for you
than them. The poem is okay
but the story is great. Way to navigate
the fickle system. In the end 
complexity is not a crime, it's just
people need something they can fix,
a hole to fill, a head to hit, 
something that won't hurt a bit.