The Gas Station Poem by Theresa Ann Moore

On the corner of my street is a Speedway gas station.
This is where to find the answer to worldwide salvation.
Many travelers stop at this place; it is often quite hectic.
Each day that I go there, I see someone with whom I click.

As I walk to the entrance, I see another person approaching.
One person opens the door for the other without coaching.
It is amazing, because it always seems to work with courtesy.
Kind smiles and 'thank you, ' makes an agreeable potpourri.

I might see someone that I have known for several years.
More often, someone who is a stranger randomly appears.
I have found that whether a person is familiar or foreign.
No one asks the question; from what country were you born?

No matter where they are going or where they come from.
All customers are polite; there is no hostility to overcome.
Each waits patiently in a line to pay for gas and provisions.
They complete their transactions and avoid any collisions.