Pumped up from the ground a second time the sluggish gold spills into the dark heart of the car. Dried up squeegee and miniscule credit card instrux. I am leaning
on the flank of the car. I am resting my bum and the length of one leg as I squeeze
the handle. Filling and topping off. Last drop city here. I like pump #1, the lake
a crooked promise to the left. At this corner I have seen a dying woman
and an old ungreeted friend. I have dropped change. I have forgotten to flip
the lever. I have forgotten what I was doing. I have looked at the sky’s supreme
movements while I have only been going home. My motives are pure. No
coffee, no lottery, no snacks. Just preparation at the the end of the week.
Tanked up, the fumes lace. One butt away from kingdom come. Snake
the hose, screw the lid, shut the very small door. All day I have clenched
a stone in my mouth to fool my lips and my tongue. It rattles there still.
