A Good bastard

One man has a burnt face and a weeping eye.
Another is lame with a stiff back.
They are out in the cold washing cars.
They do this every Saturday to a servicemen's club open.
It is no bonanza:
they might make $100.
They have a routine -
one wets the cars,
the more able wash.
They use sponges and buckets.
There is no pressure washer.
They use frail arms and crook backs.
I know because I sit in my car.
I kid myself I am helping.
I pay double the asking price.
The man with the burnt face always doffs his hat.
Last week I got out and shook his hand.
He seemed surprised, asked why.
Because, I said, you are a good bastard.
Then I drove off and cried.