Selected Work

          by Jeffrey Field










          What is This Clutch Thing, Anyway?


          To shift, or not to shift? That is the question-
          Whether 'tis nobler to brave the
          Five-gated synchromesh monster
          With its yet untamed demon clutch
          And risk the gnashing of teeth in my mad hunt for third,
          Or to drive the distance in second gear,
          And, by revving past the blessed redline,
          Crack a piston or burn a valve.
          'Tis better to shift, methinks,
          For who shall love me perchance I blow this
          DOHC-16V in-line, 4-cylinder fuel-injected engine?
          Aye! There's the rub.
          For who shall love a shiftless woman
          As myself? Yet, is love secured by clutching?
          Perhaps 'tis better to seek a neutral ground and
          Coast to gentle stop.
          No! The risk is not the worth,
          For the master would only make his gurgling sounds and Force me start again,
          and thereby tempt the dreaded stall,
          Wherein he would surely stable me and
          Ride the pleasured pony himself.
          Fie! Fie on him! I shall stall no more. Wherefore did he buy this silver
          ragtop? Aye, for me, and with half my money! I'll play his dicey little game
          and yet still may win.
          Lo! Win I must!
          For with the stall dies respect,
          And in that death-like sleep
          What dreams may unbidden come?
          Grinning motorists in their idiot-proof cars,
          Shiftless men in lobster suits who dare stop behind me
          on the slightest upgrade.

          Ha! I am better than those powerglide simpletons. I guide my own destiny.
          Switch the pitch, smell the glove,
          Break like the wind,
          Leaving strips of Yokahama rubber all over the road,
          Proof I stall no more.
          I shift when I take the mood.
          And if I chance the stall,
          So be it.
          I am woman.
          Who but she can bear the whips and scorns of time
          With but a bare bodkin twixt her teeth?
          Sisters, oh sisters!
          Join with me and together we shall
          Bare our broccoli at those leering men
          In their over-sized Chevrolets.
          But,
          Ho! Lo! I ramble.
          Soft you now, girlie,
          Do the right thing.
          PUT THE CLUTCH IN!
          Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes indeedy I shall. You needn't yell, master.
          Your native hue looks far better
          Than this tinge you show me now.
          I pray you sir, tis done. The clutch is in.
          Shall we go a happy motoring?


          Jeffrey Field teaches at Conlee Elementary School. A bio is located at Teachers' Lounge . (August 07)