Rentals
by Steven Gowin
They smell new, new car new, yet something of the last driver lingers... a trace of Chanel or burrito or something best left undiscovered.
You master their secrets. Mirror adjusters... Air conditioning knobs... Fuel door releases... Changing their satellites to Mojo Nixon. But you never really know them.
In driving, you smash parking berms into their suspensions, tear away underside dust shields, ride them rough over potholes. Still, their wobbly tie rods witness no transgression.
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Author's Note
I worked on this on a New York to San Francisco flight. Maybe the altitude had gotten to me. Maybe I should have taken one of the pain tablets left over from a hip operation instead.
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Nice.
"Changing their satellites to Mojo Nixon."
Love that!
Yet it takes on the significance of metaphor. The metaphor I have been trying -- in getting away from "cars" as a tried one -- is "consignment." I have been offering myself for consignment, a dress already worn, not until shabby, no outdated hem or sleeve, no stretched out width in a shoe, no battered sole, no outdated heel, where the idea is to get something for it, not nothing, to sell it modestly, not to give it away, to give it its second life or usefulness. You inspire me to try it topically. Another topic is the pain pill(s) one saves (stashes) after a legitimate need (Rx) for it has passed. Interesting trajectories. *
(Just checking -- this is the updated version?) I like it. I forgot to mention that I like that you wrote this on a plane. It's all good, but the very last line resonates most clearly as it builds from the others. *
Yes this is the revision. Those two lines I lost were unnecessary... like me saying “I don’t trust you to figure this out or make something of it yourself.” the ending, especially was tacked
Finally, got to this. Glad I did. I think the end works and suggests the consignment metaphor to which Ann refers.