the garage doors are open
on the weekend.
you see the men
in there, most of them
retired,
fiddling with their cars.
polishing a fender,
changing a wiper blade.
the hoods are up.
they stand
at their work benches
doing something
under the fluorescent lights,
being useful in some
strange way.
gluing something together,
maybe a chair
leg.
people walk by and
stop, and wave,
say hey.
they ask, what's up Stan,
whatchu working on today?
where's Peg?
out shopping?
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