artwork: ralph murre
Cash for Clunkers
by Richard Swanson
He’s never quite caught her right in the act,
her eyes in a furtive head to toe scan
but sometimes he questions if in fact
his wife has an agenda, a plan.
With his age and mileage, the wages of sin
in his going-to-hell suspension,
does she see him as a relic trade-in,
eco salvage in a crushed compression?
Is he onto clandestine musings,
her needing something sans dings and dents?
These imperfections aren’t of my choosing,
She pats his butt, him toiling at the kitchen sink.
Can you see me as vintage classic, Hon’? he thinks.
~ previously published in Not Quite Eden (Fireweed Press)