Car Wash
She said she felt dirty,
black grease clogging her pores,
from the smoking or the smog
or the garbage piling up beneath
her feet.
“How is all of this going to fit
in there?”
I grabbed the binoculars
and stared through the window
at the double-image of a Medicap
pharmacy and the blurred words
of the woman on the poster.
“I need to get my eyes checked,”
I’ve said almost daily
for the past four weeks.
The soap spray splattered my
khakis and I thought
“I’ve been meaning to wash these
for days anyway – they’re starting
to ride below my hips”
as I wiped
the suds
from
my
face.