They both hope it’s not the carburetor,
the device that blends air and fuel.
My husband and his brother try to
squeeze under the hood at the same time.
If you did not know them,
you would never guess they grew
inside the same womb, these two
men standing side by side in the driveway
on Christmas Eve, cigarettes dangling
from their lips. My husband holds a
torque wrench, his brother a ratchet driver
as they argue over the next step. The horror
of taking everything out of the car’s chest,
weighs heavy on their expressions.
Neither one of them bought a single
gift yet, and the sun is setting.