The wrong vehicle for this town

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It was summer in a new town,
in a new house, in a new life.
A township full of conservative
community sentiments.
Real men have chainsaws,
and women bake and love their..
horses.

I had my hundred year old roof
replaced by a local man.
With weeks of work and
weeks of tea drinking
out on my shaded verandah,
he was an easy going mate,
we would chat about..
nothing in particular,
my intellect relaxed,
I felt grounded in his
company.

If I drove the right vehicle,
he’d have invited me to
join the lads for a beer,
and a game of cards.
But it’s a small town,
old social rules still apply –
I drive the wrong vehicle,
with my smackable rear bumper,
and my front airbags
permanently inflated.

I hid inside the house
the day his wife called on him.
I feared my own
non-existent threat of
being an apparently single,
liberal lady, of
independent means.
I hid..because..all I wanted
was a friendly smile, and for him to
fix my gutter five years from then.

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