A Fable
Once upon a time, a car went through this car wash.
When the bay doors opened, like stable doors, the car
was covered in glue. It wasn’t clean but it gleamed.
Slowly, it rolled out, followed by a puff of steam.
As it checked its reflection in pavement puddles,
suddenly the sky darkened. A hard rain rang down.
The car took fright! It bucked. It jerked forward, then stopped.
The rain was like small birds hurling themselves against
the car with despair, like lovers throwing themselves
into doomed love or over the side of a high bridge.
The car felt the pain of this wild abandon and
headlong joy. Each of its scratches and its patches
of rust throbbed. It was as though a thousand hammers
were beating it into a new shape, transforming
it into a new being. Then, the rain, harder
than hail, halted. The sun shone. The road dust settled.
The car felt its gears engaging while its sharp pains
evaporated, never to return. Where flaws
had been, they were no more seen. A pelt of buttons—
each one different, each one perfect, like crystals—
covered the bones of the car like new armature.
One of a kind now—like a scarred warrior or
a queen hung with jewels and insignia of power—
this car could never move through the world without
being seen, being marveled at. Ordinary
days were over. Even in its darkened garage,
at midnight, its engine quite quiet, still the shining car
glowed with beauty. Thrummed, awash in a tide of love.
Leslie Schultz
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