Lead-free stripes
(A rendezvous at the pump)
Gas gauge glowing red;
chilly Tuesday evening;
coast in – Pratt at Third.
Hazy moon in view
above fluorescent corner,
neighborhood asleep.
At royal blue pump,
lead-free: four-twenty-nine
– winter not thawing.
Man in corduroy
appears near, looks at me;
No more self-service?
Wants ride, a hot-shot,
or to snatch my wallet.
Clouds forming above.
Seems puzzled, though,
as if a question’s coming.
I’ve seen this before.
I’ll have to respond.
What will this guy want from me?
Perhaps, I’ll just nod.
Hang on, pump’s pumping.
Lightening cracks sapphire sky;
frost numbs my fingers.
Fifty-six-ten, full tank
and fumes of silver ice
escape into air.
Trash flutters in breeze
as corduroy comes forward,
has a simple request.
“Can you tie a tie?”
Lest the existential mind
address time and space.
Corduroy and I go
to his blue van at Pump Six.
Lesson begins now.
Hands me his striped tie;
reflection in rear window
reveals my technique.
Forget Windsor knot.
Four-in-hand: way to go.
Stripes over easy.
Must be sure to keep
the shorter end not too long
– distance relative.
Lady at Pump Five
wants to learn secrets, too;
knowledge joins us all.
Crowd gathers by van
for al fresco seminar
in progress at station.
© Gerald H. Levin
Gerald H. Levin, a Baltimore native, is a writer and editor. Most days, he’s working with nonfiction or fiction. Poetry represents a new frontier. He has an MFA in creative writing from the University of Baltimore. And, he sometimes collaborates with his 10-year-old granddaughter on short stories.
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