Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

My secret is a phobia that many would not guess.
Bringing me much anguish and quite a lot of stress.
Some say that it is silly, to me it is immense.
Causing me to detour, incurring more expense.

I keep my phobia secret for fear I’m thought to be
Wacky and ridiculous and also cowardly.
And so I travel many miles until I find, at last.
A station that’s full service so they can pump my gas.

You may think this is foolish but I have thought this through.
And I have many reasons for thinking as I do.
So much I have imagined could possibly take place.
A series of unfortunate events I’d hate to face.

For instance, there’s the nozzle, already filled with fuel.
It can be very dangerous and such a deadly tool.
What if the gas should suddenly begin to gush and flow?
It is a possibility I do not want to know.

And when the nozzle is in place, it is really there?
Or will the gasoline start splashing out and everywhere.
Will it drip onto my car or maybe on my shoes?
Later on igniting – of this I often muse.

I therefore watch my gas gauge very carefully. 
And then I fill it often because I fear to be. 
Forced to stop at self-serve when my fuel is low.
Because there is no telling the way the gas might flow.

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