1. Washing the Car
The air is cool and newly
bitten by the coming autumn;
the sun scorches the sky
cloudless, warming the pavement
so I don't have to wear shoes.
The hose pours forth icicles melting
over the warm colors of fall leaves
scattered about the ground forming
a new constellation on the earth.
Soap bubbles dance upward like
balloons released in the wind.
I pay careful attention to the
dirty, mud-splattered spots,
spending extra time scrubbing
the Jackson Pollock canvas,
uncovering a cleaner, finer art form.
I am feverish,
like Michelangelo, chiseling away excess marble
to reveal a pre-existent beauty
beneath the soiled, metallic red surface.
Perfection, so I go inside
and feel it starting to rain.
It always rains.