Not again, please

Sweating and smoking
he stands.
As if he might top himself
at the sight of
one more exhaust.

His cigarette,
lopsided,
makes them wonder
what he wished for
when his summers were long.

They drive in anyway
with their clapped out Renaults
asking for favours that
they never really earned.

He says Just a tenner
and they smile,
hand it over
like they've won a little prize.

Their Renault keeps going.
He lights another cigarette.

Another day passed with
rusting Minis
and noisy brakes.
Cheap cars
that do the job
badly.

When it's over he pulls down the garage door
imagining its weight on the back of his neck.

At home, his wife passes him on the doorstep
forgetting to say hello
as she runs off
with one of their children.

She used to fuck him
on the front seat of their Honda.
Him pinned beneath the steering wheel,
her whispering not to move.

A quiet warning
to his desire,
so strong it had to be controlled.

He watches the back of her now
walking flat footed to the car,
taking care of his children
being his wife.

The car engine splutters and
he ducks into the house
thinking
Not again, please.

Not you.