Gas Station Boy
By any account he was a sturdy boy
leaning against the gas station wall
-his scent,
wafting the just born morning- mix
of gasoline,
this morning’s cologne and yesterday’s
sweat, from
when he left the station to chase that toddler girl
who wandered while her mama was
fixing her lipstick and
making eyes at him – just one of
countless pairs of eyes –
that traveled his lean body – smoldered with that shocking hunger –
that traveled his lean body – smoldered with that shocking hunger –
He was a sturdy boy – baby fat
turning more muscled each morning
in this lazy launch across the fluid terrain
in this lazy launch across the fluid terrain
toward manhood-looming,
in the endless fields of waving
wheat into the distance,
paving his untraveled road –
as he, toothpick jaunty and
threatening
whistled a jovial timeless tune,
one
leg leaning against the concrete wall
in the just born morning, inhaling
the rising sun and himself and
feeling something inexplicable uncurl within
like a jungle cat, stretching strong and agile
already flying across the amber fields -
setting his still planted feet against that quiet wall
twitching, toothpick trembling
already flying across the amber fields -
setting his still planted feet against that quiet wall
twitching, toothpick trembling
against a tidal wave of need
rising - roaring silently
across the quiet cool
morning
rippling the wheat fields
washing him as he stood
soaked in irrepressible urge
to
run
run
soon
