Clay Carpenter is a newspaper copy editor in Corpus Christi, Texas. His poems have appeared in literary magazines including Facets, Apple Valley Review, Falling Star and decomP.
Summer 2009
Table of Contents - Vol. V, No. 2
Poetry Essays Translations Fiction
Clay Carpenter
surely that threadbare tire finally will blow if only
because you’re tardy getting to your daughter’s school.
A detour to the garage will get you a new tire
installed in less than an hour for $65 however
what if you pulled into this tiny drive, walled in by this
black rubber mountain, in shaky hand its painted sign:
Reyes Tires. This part of town is safe in daylight, right?
he’s small and Spanish-speaking but with an accent
not South Texas. His smile says you’re not from this
neighborhood, are you? Plucks a tire from the mountain, worn
but not threadbare and rolls it to you: “This is good one.”
fifteen dollars, he says, fifteen minutes. Whirs lug nuts off,
kicks the tire to jar it from the wheel, and in ten is done
but who knows who’s more embarrassed when he says
“No credit cards.” Who knows if he believes you when
you promise to return with cash, and quickly he nods yes
when you lay the bills in the small man’s hand,
his smile says he lost a bet with himself. “Thank
you,” you say, leaning in, making eye contact.
“Any time.”
the morning lamplight reveals the wife I married,
at her best in the still house, rousing the kids
with a grace that’s startling, all crisp movements
and calm intonations, imparting a proficiency
she didn’t have the night before
confronted with sluggish children and uncooperative
adults she welcomes the morning’s demands
her hands seem to enlarge as she pulls the household
together, decorating us with the rudiments of morning:
food and clothing, soap and toothpaste
operating with the quiet gratitude
of an old physician doing God’s work
as if she were created for this stage
© Clay Carpenter
