I have some strong opinions 
sitting in the waiting room 
of Dutch Ford while
my truck tires get rotated
and I pour the sludge
the mechanics call coffee
into a Styrofoam cup 
and add powdered creamer.

There’s a woman about my age
who wants to eat hearty, delicious dinners
and find seven simple ways
to bring summer beauty inside
and find some lush new looks for the patio
and to plant some no-fail fall bulbs
and maybe get some baby goats.

There’s a high school couple here
at 7 am, she’s made up and perfumed
he’s clean like it’s Friday night
And he’s teasing, and she says
Stop it, Danny. Stop, I mean it. 
But she doesn’t mean it, and we all know it
Because she leans in and touches his arm
Because her contour is doing its job

There’s a mechanic with no ass who wanders in
sunburned, jingling quarters in his hand
talks to the vending machine -powdered donuts
honey buns, toast chee sandwich crackers-
lean-rolling back to look at the bottom
of the dusty racks, what is expired there
skeptical, but oddly hopeful
he will find his future in C5

And I sit here, having connected
to the guest wifi, having wasted my June
again, with only four poems, when
I had such good intentions,
so many strong opinions, those opinions
so strong, they make me weak
and I realize:  the hill I will die on is
covered in sawmill gravy.