The Joy of Fossil Fuels Squeeze. Cllak. Squirt. OuBh.
Hob Indeed. Somefchlng about a onakca butt and a wagon rutt.
Smell
It.
The Gasoline.
Everybody does.
The man Inside with his name on his shirt.
The
stray. Ill say
I was
Breathing
It deep.
The way
smoked under my skirt
It
Could hardly help
and between my toes.
Something nlae about being a
flirt.
Truoker In the big Naak blows a kiss and honks like a slok goose.
(Summer turns these feelings loose)
Sunglasses slip down my nose. Adjustment.
Grin off Into space. Sort of like
. . .
no, not really.
Other customers
st«u:e off too,
but In that embarrassed way. Like their dogs are whizzing In the nelghbozs yard
and the^e pretending not to notice.
--Cherle Priest
It.
