Cobbler
By Greg Batt

I took one look back,
scarred the image of my now deceased car in my mind.
It carried me for a long time,
through rain, snow, ice-
warm summer days-
through it all.
Presently deceased on the roadside,
soon to be overtaken by the horizon
and momentarily forgotten.

Weather changed as I walked,
light gave way to darkness,
gentle summer breeze-
now a cutting wind.
I, once a respected man
replaced by a cobbler.
Making my way by mending soles;
living off the praise if each successful job.
Only to frown, forgotten,
the moment they drive away.

Walking blind, as lights strip my vision.
An indifferent car,
just as familiar as all the others that had passed me by.
Then, this one stopped.
Beckoned me into the open door.
A friendly voice inquired my origins,
and upon my response; we drove.
Drying my hands in the heat,
we began to talk about the past.
Memories of my car, mending, the cold.

Reaching my car
I got out, and opened the hood.
New life was breathed into it,
life borrowed from that of another.
I turned, ready to thank my saviour,
"Who are you?" I asked.
"A cobbler" was the reply, before pulling away.
I thought that over for a second,
then smiled, while pulling onto the road once again.