Comments about Nancy Cherry
In the years before unleaded, when everything
ran smooth as asphalt,
my father sold gasoline wholesale—
stored barrels that accumulated
a thick pitch of years as the platform planks
darkened with creosote—
a smell that walked in
on my father’s boots, the big boots
with rawhide laces and the smell
came into the house
like soot from an old fire.
In the summer, my sister and I played
in the fumes of 40 weight and 30,
scent of Zerolene, Ethyl and Supreme,
valve oil, pearl oil, tractor roller grease.
All summer, the smell of ...