SMALL THINGS

A black cap with silver lips. Keeps the opening sealed. Nothing new.

I always open it when I need to refill fuel.

Something changed — it won’t open. Did it get offended? But why?

Maybe thirsty?

I search for something in the trunk. I find it — a small can of WD-40. I spray its dry throat.

I try again. No luck.

Open up, please. Open sesame. Because of you I can’t go any further!

I kneel and apologize. I know that all these years I didn’t appreciate you.

You protected the inlet from dirt and rain. You never complained. You guarded the fuel from thieves. You were devoted.

I’m sorry.

Passerby: What are you doing? Appreciating small things. Passerby: Can I help? I’ll let you know in a moment.

I try one last time.

Click!

I shout: Thank you!

Passerby: But I didn’t do anything…

Not to you — to the small thing..