I sat and watched as
Iambiís hands did
What I wished mine could.
Deftly they finger danced
Over wrench and socket
As she repaired Jimís International.
I rose and went to my truck,
Reached inside and pulled from the cooler
A cold beer, turned the ignition key
And adjusted the radio volume up
To the rough barked seat
I had taken earlier.
With a grunt
She slid out from under the frame
And started wiping her hands
On a grease rag that was as much grease as rag.
She looked my way with perplexed eyes.
I just stood up and began
In awkward steps to dance to the music.
I still donít danceÖ
But I am no longer afraid to try.