It's Still Life

The Mechanic

He’s explaining how it all works,
why that yellow light comes on,
when it resets and regenerates,
how it clears. It’s all about
this diesel particulate filter.
He keeps saying DPF and DPF, and
I realise it’s one of those things
condensed into three letters,
which makes everyone outside
his circle of friends feel stupid,
like some sort of inside joke.
And he’s on about the exhaust,
again, this and that control,
soot that should be expelled
from the system but it’s not,
so it’s smelly and black smoke,
and deposits that should burn off
while I’m driving at high revs.
Somewhere near 450 degrees he says,
which seems like the temperature
for baking bread instead of diesel
particulates. And I glance down
at the pavement, and notice that
the leather’s worn off the tip
of his work boots, and I say,
“They really are steel tip shoes,”
which just proves that I’m not
concentrating on what he’s tell me
… and I’m thinking — when I
was a kid I’d ride a bike without
any hands, and I’m too old
for a diesel particulate systems.

written for Miz Quickly “A Moment”