I ask the mechanic to fix me Poem by Gianni Gaudino
He says, “I cannot, son, I’m just a mechanic,” so I lean against him, getting close to his face and try again, “Please, fix me.” Holding a wrench the mechanic assures me there’s nothing he can do, so I squeeze his body and we hold each other, his oily residue smearing onto my shirt and skin as I scream, “My heart, sir, needs to be repaired!” While he begins thwacking me in the hip with his wrench and on my head and I keep screaming, “My heart, mechanic, my heart!” I position my chest so that his wrench hits it and now he’s beating me like a gong and all the cars’ alarms sound and the lights tremble and the fire sprinklers begin to cry too.“You can’t be fixed,” he screams and continues hitting my chest until it breaks open, bones and sinew spray like confetti throughout the shop and inside me a tiny man is weeping. “Don’t cry little guy,” my mechanic says, “I got something for you, in my office. I’ll go get it,” and when the mechanic leaves I don’t know what to do, so I give the crying man my finger and he holds it, his body bouncing, his heels clicking, and he beats and bumps to a soundless rhythm.
Gianni Gaudino has happily published once before with Philadelphia Stories. He is an instructor of English at Atlantic Cape Community College, living in Philadelphia, PA, and hoping to soon attend grad school for an MFA in Creative Writing.
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11/22/15 10:01 PM
