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GAS STATION LIGHTS II
a lone ancient dark night
Your engine stumbles
rumbles, coughs to a stop
so close to E
The gas pump, blocky, digital
smells of gasoline
like a primordial dance
an intercourse of machines
rape of a Mesozoic age, processed
Petrol in a tank, deep
Swipe card, digital hum of circuitry
Choose your poison, your savor
Buttons—regular, premium,
Reek of diesel
Corruption
So many fingers have touched
that white square button
almost flesh-looking
White, pale, cracked, peeling
The horror of the mundane
You need to touch it
You want to
You have to
You have places to go
And miles before you sleep…
Copyright ©
Poet Tellaferro
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