And so he polished.
Rag in hand, seated upon an overturned bucket,
Rubbing away a troubled day.
And so he polished.
Swirling over the badge to remember his name.
Clearing up the foggy turn signals to find some direction.
And so he polished.
Shining the stainless brightwork to brighten his mood.
Burnishing the headlight lenses to cast some vision to a way forward.
And so he polished.
Waxing a mirror shine into the paint, just to see who he really is.
Smoothing out the bumper to smooth out his own rough edges.
And so he polished.
Buffing the hubcaps to run away from it all.
Shining the tires to get a grip on his emotions.
And so he polished…
…and polished
…and polished.
Until there was nothing left to polish on the little Opel.
Polishing the surfaces of an imperfect life.
And so he polished.
Burnt Clutches 