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This poem is taken from PN Review 208, Volume 39 Number 2, November - December 2012.

'At the Garage' and 'X Prostitutism' Tara Bergin
At the Garage

Ask me:
have I fallen for the mechanic?
Perhaps - perhaps, for a moment.
He doesn't know what it is.
It's his hands -
so thickly black with engine oil,
so hard-working, and in such high demand.

Ask me:
is there violence in the dirt?
Perhaps - perhaps, for a moment.
Like a criminal's thumb which gets
held firmly by the prison officer
and is then rolled hard onto gummed paper
so that we know, we know, that he is done for -

and even the backs of the mechanic's hands,
as well as the palms, are all inked black,
and everything they touch will be evidence of him -
the keys, the white receipt, my own hand

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