FILLING STATION POEM by Michael Thompson

Questionable-looking hoodlums
linger like sewer rats
in the parking lot
of a filling station
next to I-80

It’s not Bethlehem
they’re slouching towards
when the highway patrol
stops in for coffee

Around the corner at Chris’ Bar,
ex-cons unable to get straight
set up a base of operations,
but beware that undercover narcs
are never in short supply

Someone’s mother
whose shirt is grossly inadequate
for the belly she’s acquired
pulls up to the curb
on her son’s Huffy

A pregnant working girl
knocks on every windshield
to rustle up business
and blithely offers
to wash windshields
until the proprietor
chases her off the premises

There’s nothing incognito
about these turns of events

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: