|
ENGINE |
|
by Charles Carreon
Engine -- Look at you, drinking gasoline in a steady flow, Purring with the easy shake of the exhaust, Turning the fan and circulating water to cool yourself Easy as can be ...
We use, but rarely admire you, Your faithfulness, your loyalty, your rhythm, Nimble as a dancer's step ...
All know the greasy metal, the stink, the heat, the cracked and grimy gaskets, the defeated clutch, the shoeless brakes that have eaten into their drums, exploded mufflers, failed tires, dead batteries, While so few have appreciated with understanding the steady beat of all the engineering ticking fine --
It's a miracle, and a homey one at that: So many things working together to turn a single shaft. Valves opening and closing to the predetermined rhythm of the ever-turning crank, Communicated through the simple mechanism of a chain.
Oh spark-plugs, sparking at the command of the loquacious rotor Oh silent coil secretly amplifying the power of the battery Oh carburetor, mixing air and gasoline like an alchemist Oh oil-pan humbly lying below all things, filling up with sludge and filings -- Oh engine, we take for granted the burden you bear -- mutely your cylinders and rings wear away -- your flywheel loses its teeth -- your valves become encrusted -- the intelligence of your steel decays, is worn away by time -- you fumble, you falter -- the trim muscles of good compression waste away -- gravity gets you down -- you do not make the hills, you cannot pull the load anymore. Oh worn away, oh broken down, Oh tired and unsteady, you are passed on to the poor, To those who gamble on a transmission And play Russian Roulette with a recalcitrant starter. And you will try, you will exert yourself To uphold their faith, Drinking watered gasoline, putting up with Quantities of cheap oil that you Blow out in a sickly exhaust. So come away, come away then There is no heaven for you, to be earned By grace or works ! Render them good service -- Three-hundred dollars worth and then, in the parking lot of the supermarket, in the carport, on a long haul over a steep hill, Give it up -- Burn your bearings, crack your head, throw a rod, Give it up ! Disintegrate the order that maintains you, forget the intelligence that makes you different from scrap, Annihilate the hot homeostasis that maintains your monotonous life -- Give it up, like a fevered illusion, And submit to the junkman's hook.
|
