it is a cold cold winter

and when i dip the stick

into the dark hole

to read the gas

i swear to myself

and miss my morning bed

i turn on the lights

and check the pumps

to make ready for six a.m.

the first drivers always

silent behind their headlights

whispering clouds of orders

i interpret the steam

of early morning essentials

fill the gas

check the oil

and wash the windows

if i remembered

to fill the pail with antifreeze

 

it is a cold cold winter

and when the cars come i work them

and when there are no cars

i sit in my office

with the heater screaming

and the stench of gasoline

the washroom smelling of shit

i sit there

in the stifling heat

and read celine or burroughs

or no one at all

and wait for the next ford or chevy

and the blast furnace of a winter

that always meets me at the door

 

 

Copyright© michael dennis/Pulp Press Book Publishers

 

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