Alec Solomita’s fiction has appeared in the Southwest Review, The Mississippi Review, Southword Journal, and The Drum (audio), among other publications. He was shortlisted by the Bridport Prize and Southword Journal. His poetry has appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, Gnashing Teeth Publishing, The Galway Review, Bold + Italic, Litbreak, Subterranean Blue Poetry, The Blue Nib, Red Dirt Forum, and elsewhere.  His chapbook, “Do Not Forsake Me,” was published in 2017 and is still available at Finishing Line Press and Amazon. His first full-length book of poetry was published last April by Kelsay Press. He lives in Massachusett.

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Handyman

The battery of my Altima is weak,
just whispering to life on occasion.
Something leaking in the cold car,
which rests in the frigid driveway.
Can electricity leak?
Or maybe it’s the alternator,
the battery’s supplier of voltage.
I don’t know much about
a car’s electrical system,
but I do know how
to change a goddam tire.

My upstairs neighbor
who dresses like a superhero,
which wouldn’t be odd if
he was quite a bit younger
than his mid-forties, thinks
he knows everything
and I know nothing.

When one day he saw I had a flat,
he and his wife, who actually
does know everything,
sat on their windowsill up above
while I stood in the driveway
and phoned for help.

He smilingly called out
“Would you like me to
change your flat?”
The tall, oddly shaped, pink-haired
Aquaboy was, I realized,
smirking more than
smiling, the son of a bitch.

Years back I knew a peppy, compact
girl who owned a Honda station wagon
(I think it was a Honda)
that for some reason was
prone to flat tires and sex
in its long mattressed back.
The flats remain a mystery.

I must’ve changed a dozen tires
during the two years
Cindy and I were together.
But that was forty years ago
and now I suffer from
a range of old man quirks,
Vertigo, bad back, arthritis.

So naturally, I eschew tire changing.
But this didn’t occur to Pinky
despite his omniscience.
It was simply one more
thing he could do that I couldn’t.
I called up to him politely,
“No thanks, I’m getting triple A”

Early on, Cindy wanted to marry and I didn’t.
It was an issue between us.
Sometimes she would weep
and almost break my will,
and once she came up with an odd idea.

I suppose you could call it
kind of a compromise
or maybe a ploy of sorts.
So, at her suggestion
we drove to Niagara Falls
just for a visit.

The plan was to get
there in one day
but we were so tired
we had to stop in Syracuse
and stay at the Red Roof,
a shabby little motel,
which, shabby as it was,
cost us our hotel money
for Niagara Falls.

But in the morning, we kept on
and ended up midday
at the Falls and spent
a half hour or so watching
the not that impressive
(if truth be told)
waterfall.

As evening
joined us there on the
American side
and all the newlyweds
progressed to their motels
to learn what it was all about,
we made love in the Honda
(I think it was a Honda)
in a parking lot
for some hours.

When morning came ’round
I noticed we had another flat.
I changed the tire and we
started back home.
The engine woke up
with a roar, thank God.
I know nothing about batteries.