Nights

My oily eyes pool under sockets of wrenches.
Grizzled mechanics in flashing ‘Stangs and ‘Vettes,
Popped leather collars in my vision. She said,
“Faster crowds” and left. My piston fingers
Fall across books and rub against both of my hips.
We met last in sleet streets snapping rhythms
On greasy knuckles. “I hope I’m not too late.”
And, “goodnight until morning.” My rubber toes
Charge in contact with violent surfaces. They run
Still through tinted drive-thrus coming in my ears.
Tomorrow night I will see her again under a solitary
Streetlight. “Take this.” Parting my hair, velcro shoes
And screws –