A friend once described a car wash thus:
“such an uncomplicated activity.”
But I didn’t find it so –
determining which lane I’m supposed to go in,
reading the menu – just like at a drive-through,
with too many options and not enough time –
then being upsold by the bearded sales man, unlimited
washes for 14.99, on sale today for just five.
Trying to do mental math while being stared at
through my car window – accepting, then the paperwork
comes out – following waving arms, trying not
to get too close, or run over anyone’s toes, and now
you want me to put my car in neutral,
after those signs about damage and liability,
and sit back, enjoy the ride?

But somehow, it works, the groans and creaks
of my car being moved forward by some invisible
force are soon overshadowed by the whirl
of brushes and spray of water. Fractured rainbows
accompany a few blissful moments of private bubbles,
followed by a rinse and belch back out
into the world, full of eyes trained on me,
including some I know. Look, there’s my pastor’s son,
working hard in a blue shirt, am I supposed to wave
to this teenager who won’t recognize me?
The towel-dry by hand is the most awkward part,
I want to just pull away, but again, those toes…
Finally it’s done, and when they wave me off,
I have to remember how to drive
again.