no charge

how nice
the suds go over
the black
metal, my arms
stretched onto the roof,
the sides.
the tires next then
the rinses of a long
red hose,
the sponge, the rag,
the bucket
at your soggy shoes.
i'm settled nicely
in the shade without a care,
out of the sun.
a cold beer in hand.
the radio on.
the neighbor smiles
and says,
mine next?
sure, I tell him, pull
it up.
no charge.