Gas Station Poem by Daniel Miltz

I worked in a gas-stay-shun
Long prior in age, gone by
Back in the times of yore
When I was quite young
Wearing, patchy, logo shirt and hat
Pitchy-black, necker tie bow
Mukluk, galoshy, work boots
Rag wiper, hanging
Frombum-cheek, stash pocket
I canny, talented, with know-how
Pumping, neatening, fixing
Oil changing, lubricating
Polishing, sweeping
Til' day's end
In slick, oil-splashed, slippery
Jumbo ridden, gas-stay-shun

The pumps rusty and the windows oily
Old signs worn and distorted plenty
Proprietor uncle in sick fitting coveralls
Killing flys and creepy crawlies on the walls
Of the building congested with ivy
During the height of the day activity

Drivers, every so often stop, look for a filling
Shadows of travelers, gab, grinning
We were there to enable drivers on their approach
To check your oil, clean your windshield - I say
Whether they drove a Model T, Rambler, or Chevrolet
These oily carports, were once, with vivacious scenes
With smeared restrooms and pop machines
There was also Sinclair, Mobil, and Flying-A
These names are all piece of a past day
Down the Aha street a way
That long back in my childhood sprout
My heart liquefied to be there, 'til the nightfall of day
Notwithstanding, every one of that was there, just a memory
In my oil-drenched monkey suit don
To a look, of general dark translucency
In a South Detroit, downriver, gas-stay-shun

© daniel miltz