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.