Classic Poem

The body man is in a job
That he's been in for years.
He gets it done, as they all do,
With muscle, sweat.... and beers.

Well, first he checks the damage done,
And tallies up the count;
Then writes it down and shows us how
It dents our bank account.

The craftsman, the mechanic,
And the artist do their thing.
The painter sprays and touches up
The job with coloring.

Each one will set his private pride
On everything he does.
In answer to my question, 'Why? '
He shrugs, ' Well, just because.'

But, what he will return to us,
From several days in shop,
Puts us on the road again,
Feeling back on top.

We thank them for artistic work....
They are a special breed....
For they can do some magic things,
In answer to our need.

Yes, they endure the hassles....
Braving sweat.... and toil.... and heat,
So cars that we might drive again
Will look so ever sweet!


(Written while I observed and appreciated work done at an auto body shop on multiple cars in August 1982 in McLean, Virginia while I waited for work to be completed on my car due to a minor fender bender.)