Take Care, Now

8:20 and agonizing
over engaging my first towing company
for a car which I suspect
has given up the ghost--
but the young driver is courteous,
friendly, even. The winter
was so short, he kind of misses it.
He carries food in a grocery sack
and water in a gallon jug because
he's seen how bad it can get:
a car up a tree, one under a drift,
and the human gore that drunken
"assholes, excuse my language"
leave behind.
He's witnessed, also, the aftermath
of the quaking blur
between good and bad:
the woman in tears, not from
injury to self or car, but because
"that car was in her backseat,
and she'd just dropped
her little kids off at daycare."

We both admire the magnolias.
He would like one in his front yard.
The route is confusing;
he doubles back and I,
never good at geography
(local or otherwise),
lose my way walking home, later.
A woman at a bus stop
points me in the right direction,
explains two or three times
until she is satisfied that I understand:
"Take care, now."