The Mechanics Of Emily Dickinson

Emily was working on my car,
she had grease & oil all over her hands,
her overalls were zipped down

just enough to reveal her bosom.
She told me the part would cost
an arm and a leg,

the labor charges, at least, another leg.
I said, “OK, go ahead,
fix the damn car,

I’ve got to get to work,
I’ve got to be able to write the poetry,
I’ve got to put food on the table!”

She had the car done that afternoon.
Soon, I, the cripple, was writing the best
automotive poems ever written.