wash me

i see him
every bright
sunny saturday
washing his
black car
with the sleeves
of his white T
rolled up,
a bucket full
of soap and suds
at his feet.
he moves around
like a cat
with her kitten
getting behind
each ear,
and by the time
he's done
it sparkles in
the sun like
a jewel, even
the tires
shine. you
can smell
the windex from
here. it glistens
as he rides
slowly by with
the windows
down, the music
up, his shades
on. he's clean,
he's smooth,
he's trying
so hard to be
just like me
i tell my girl
friend lucinda.
and she laughs
and laughs
while she takes
her finger
and writes
wash me on
the dented hood
of my ten year
old car.