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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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