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)
