Consider now the Object: Paperweight. A three-inch cube of clear Lucite
within which floats a dispersion of silver-shiny hex nuts,

cap screws, lock washers (SAE), et cetera et cet
miscellaneous debris of automotive guts.

In those days it was fashionable to speak of a "midlife crisis"
Personally speaking, I never experienced having one

Or so I say. Perhaps it was that automobile. Who knows?
1958 Triumph TR-3, my manifestation of glandular rebellion

English sports car, black with (sparingly employed)
white canvas top. Bought used. A barbarously bred machine

fast and tight, tracking like an arrow. I hear the turbulent
rush of air, the deep throated thrum of the engine

remember the intoxication of speed, headiness of acceleration.

Cars grow old. I took it apart.

built a gantry in the garage, jacked the car up on stands
lifted out the engine, the transmission, suspension, brakes

(Carnal knowledge of an automobile.) Miked and calipered
cylinders bushings turned rebored . Scraped away the flakes

of carbon and rust. Then on clean metal, the pungency of fresh oil
the sexy lubricity of the reciprocation of pistons

the balletic dance of pushrods on cams,
silky synchrocity of gears and pinions.

The paperweight came from my neighbor.
He said, "I found these nuts and bolts left over."

.......................................Israel Lewis

* Nuts and Bolts