From Enough For a Book, published in 2016.
Garage
A man-made cave
one of millions. Dim and cool
even when the day outside
is eye-hurting bright. The smell
is always the same:
warm rubber
spilled gasoline
oil. Pull the car in. The bay on the right
is free.
6/20/16
The Reluctant Poet 
Thank you for the re-blog. As I mentioned, this poem comes from my own history – my grandfather ran a service station (from the 1930’s into my memory, the 1960’s) and the environment was familiar to me. Ever since I’ve always liked the smell of rubber tires and oil, and the sounds of cars being repaired. Thank you again.
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Awesome! Loved her piece!
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