The Salvage Yard

By Matthew McGuirk

Walking through aisles lined with twisted metal

looking for something salvageable,

something to part out

or something that can be buffed out

and might shine again in

this mangled and dull landscape.

A bumper that once reflected light,

now wears a grass necklace.

A door that was opened for a date,

an act of chivalry,

is now hanging lazy and is unable to offer any gesture.

Leather seats are cracked with spiderwebs

from too much time in the sun

and the undercarriage is rotted by rust

from salt spattered winter roads;

both would need to be released or replaced.

The sun crested between the waiting hilltops,

pulling in hues of orange and yellow

and washed across a pristine, dust covered windshield

aching for the wind of a highway at 70.

I feathered the bills in my pocket out

and thought about the window down

and the radio cranked.

Matt McGuirk teaches and laughs at his puns by day and scribbles somewhat coherent words nightly. He lives with his family in New Hampshire. Words in The Daily Drunk Magazine, Goat’s Milk, Honeyfire Lit, Idle Ink, Maudlin House, Sledgehammer Lit, Versification and others. Twitter handle: @McguirkMatthew and Instagram @mcguirk_matthew.