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Under an autumn sky smudged amber
Going on nine o'clock, half past twilight
She gasses the old mauve Buick
At the last self-serve on the way
Out of town -
She smacks at droning but harmless bugs landing
on the stalk of her smooth white neck
And keeps shifting; stands with one
dirty bare foot covering the other, then
changes
Watches the numbers flip over
on the gas pump, notes the ping announcing
every gallon added,
Jerks the nozzle out as if startled at the final one,
A faint dribble of fuel scents the air, runs down
the side of the car
Bill paid, she refreshes "Sweetheart Pink" lips
in her rearview,
Puts it in gear, peels out into the night
The dust chasing her out to the two-lane
the only evidence she was ever there
S.E.Ingraham©
