Aspiration eyes

In aspiration eyes, I see a superhero,

No cape, no mask, no skyward flight,

He smells of diesel, oil, and long days,

And somehow makes the broken right.

Everything his hands touch becomes fixed,

Wrenches turn like magic wands,

Grease under nails, grit on his knuckles,

Still gentle — steady, strong and fond.

He doesn't boast, he doesn't have to,

The trucks start up to prove he's near,

My hero doesn't fly, he fixes,

And that's why I hold him dear.