Bill’s Bumper

Old Bill out back and I park our cars right next to each other

sitting on the little cobbled driveway

a couple of fading tins, his white, mine grey

but my car’s as though it was sleek and just off the lot

compared to Bill’s

I only have missing hubcaps

and a windshield cracked like split ice

and some scratches beneath the handles

and dents along the door frame

Bill’s car has so much more

the seats are torn and are themselves covered with thin and torn blankets

the white paint has worn through to the base

and even to the tin itself

the grip of corrosion has got it along the flanks

and the tires are nearly flayed

it leans a little to the side on the flattest of surfaces

- it’s in its 40’s, which is pretty damn old for a car

Bill’s bumper is racked with rust

like acne on a teenage boy

in the moonlight my bumper lights up

while Bill’s is barely visible

I went out tonight

jazz at the Two Dogs and a Cat

the flyer had no address

no phone number

no cover charge

just that it was across from the Grand Hotel

I live in a relatively small town so I know just where the Grand Hotel is

I went out to listen to the jazz

I’d had enough rejection for one day

there was no Two Dogs and a Cat

anywhere

believe me, I looked

so I came back home and bent to tie my careless shoelaces

against Bill’s bumper beneath a clouded half moon

I couldn’t quite see it and fell on my face against Bill’s fender.

That’s the kind of day it’s been.