the shady tree

your father
could lean under the hood
of his car
all afternoon,
drinking beer,
holding wrenches,
smoking.
what he did under there,
you have no idea,
but it seemed
to draw other men
beneath the shady
tree where
he parked his car.
together they would stare
into the motor,
talking and laughing
with one another.
from the windows or
porches the women
would
hold their children
back,
and shake their heads,
not asking
questions
but happy to know where
their husbands
might be.