Owner Fred of body shop fame, also thief, one hand
in the mouth of the sink yawned in front of a TV
that looked like a lunar landscape starting with zero
and going past America in happy happy face.
Fred bought the shop with the moon facing itself in the great
extended mirror without frame which costs extra and detracted
from the veracity of past wrecks and how lot rats
eat moon shadows in the bathtub water of America.
Fred’s sign says No Windows for Sale as he stole when no one
was looking until it happened once for all, without leverage
from a bank, sink or oval neon Open sign over a gas station
by the junk yard, Fred inside, fixing American pistons.
All goggles see the moon wielding its weight over the planet
like Fred with blow torch forcing cylinders out of blocks,
seat springs going hay wire in the forced blue neon, rear
mirror cracked, hoping to fit in some desert space station.
O America, lolling the bathtub, shaving brush ratty
sink as if Fred would stay out in the lot fumbling over
over-stuffed back seats, distorted by the moon’s proximity,
America in shades, visor and vision and a sign for Closed.
