Auto Electrician

East Kent, 22 January 2017

“Very rare, that is”

declared the auto electrician

savant and physician

of ailing alternators

and lazy starters

as we stood and pondered

this wayward lump

of metal excised

from my old Ford.

“Nothing like it on the shelf.

I’ll recondition your’s”

he grunted, then asked

for my mobile.

“You write it down for me

in case I get it wrong”

(it seemed like we

were not getting along)

“Can’t blame me then.”

I said okay.

“I should have it done

for later on today.”

Greasy, floor-to-ceiling racks

laden with old car parts

teetered from above.

The heavy bench

like druid’s stump

was a palimpsest

of sorts. At my back

the door, glossed black,

with many-stickered

wired glass pane,

let out unceremonious

onto the road.

“You found him then,”

said the garage boys

teasingly

in oil-stained tracks

“the bad-tempered old arse.”

“Owns that land behind,”

the boss chipped in

slumped against his SUV

“Worth a bloody fortune

I should say.”

I liked him I said

works with his hands

not so many

do that these days.

I took his call

let myself in

afternoon light poured

unmuffled through

dusty windows.

I counted out cash

then he pushed forward

my recon starter.

He held back, didn’t turn

seemed to want

to talk this time.

“Everyone buys new these days.

No-one repairs. See that?”

With great gnarled fingers

he held out an armature

with shaft snapped clean off.

“Chinese,” he said

in level tone

like he was announcing

someone’s passing

it could have been

his own.

“Very rare, that is”

he told me again

reflectively

of my starter

as if for the first time.

“Might be tricky -

your alternator,”

he said.

“We’ll cross that bridge”

I told him as I stepped out

into dazzling sunshine.

We’d parted

he and I

like friends.