Cheers Bill warm picture of a period P
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Bill Wootton
Sent: 04 August 2015 23:26
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Ray's
Just got to pop round to Ray's
for a minute to see if he might
have a tail light for the trailer.
Ray's: quaint that Dad would still
refer to his local service station
as Ray's. Ray Molloy used to race
Minis, a cheeky, grease-faced loon.
Sold me my first car: a crimson
Morry 1100. Lasted six months.
Ray'd shaken his head. Con-rod's
shot right through the back
of the manifold. It's buggered,
he said, but I've got another
one in the yard. He did too:
white, rusty, peeling duco
but the engine was toey-er
than my red one. Might be worth
transferring it to the better body.
Or I could just have it as is,
for $100. Red one never got
a look-in. I slapped on the P's.
Now, some old guy limps
out to Dad, shakes his head.
Jim, they don't make bulbs
like this any more. Could try
Bunnings I suppose. Feel free
to put some air in those tyres.
Dad's put 30 in one and started
phfffting about on the other
when the old guy shambles over
with a dusty packet and a screwdriver.
Might just give this one a go for you.
Sure enough, the long globe
does the trick. How much?
Oh, five bucks. Dad looks
at me. I take out a fiver
from my wallet. You remember
my boy Bill, Ray? Hell,
it IS Ray, just fleshier, slower.
He doesn't even look up,
just finishes screwing. You
sold me my first car, I say.
Know what he did for his 75th
birthday last year, Dad asks,
eyes on the road.
Took a cruise. Down the Rhine.
Ray's petrol always was dearer.
I used to go to the Caltex
over the road. Now Ray's stands
alone. And over the road six
storeys of apartments are rising.
bw
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