The Mechanic Lord, we bring you cars that won’t turn over, Batteries bleeding blue out of their ears, Radiators that radiate nothing. Like Shakespeare’s and then Auden’s dyer’s hand, Yours is blackened by your art. You may change Oil but you yourself will never change. Your sons and daughters gladly drive the ones You pronounced dead, but you weren’t lying. Under your calm hands they came back to life. Not all of them. The definitely dead You dragged off into the woods, out of sight Of any sheriff who might happen by. In lieu of you, green saplings lift the hoods. Grass vaults out of the crumbling foam seats. Even the wrecks the county brings to you Undergo a kind of resurrection. Then it’s as if the woods go joyriding Through the woods, like laughing at your own joke. When they bury you, they will bury you With a few tools, in case you find one Of God’s chariots broken down in heaven.
The Mechanic
The Mechanic
The Mechanic
The Mechanic Lord, we bring you cars that won’t turn over, Batteries bleeding blue out of their ears, Radiators that radiate nothing. Like Shakespeare’s and then Auden’s dyer’s hand, Yours is blackened by your art. You may change Oil but you yourself will never change. Your sons and daughters gladly drive the ones You pronounced dead, but you weren’t lying. Under your calm hands they came back to life. Not all of them. The definitely dead You dragged off into the woods, out of sight Of any sheriff who might happen by. In lieu of you, green saplings lift the hoods. Grass vaults out of the crumbling foam seats. Even the wrecks the county brings to you Undergo a kind of resurrection. Then it’s as if the woods go joyriding Through the woods, like laughing at your own joke. When they bury you, they will bury you With a few tools, in case you find one Of God’s chariots broken down in heaven.