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John Wick Pumps Gas
The stalks on the other side of the highway
have grown,
the numbers roll up,
and I wonder what I may not remember.
A ‘69 Mustang rebuilt,
I can taste the grease still—
You can't have it all.
You'd say that.
I think about setting fire
to the stalks; wipe out
the whole field.
It's only a small, two lane,
highway. The stream would reach.
I just can't stand for those things
getting any taller.
Back in the car
I turn the dial;
pretend to argue
over the station.
Burn it to the ground,
I thought I'd heard you say.
First published in FLAPPERHOUSE, 2017
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