Refueling

The air is sharp with fumes at three.

I’m filling up the tank again.

The nozzle didn’t click for me;

it splashed the leather, soaked right in.

My boot is dark and smells of oil,

a chemical and biting heat.

The rainbow on the concrete soil

is spreading out beneath my feet.

I’ve tried to drive away before,

but the scent is following the wheel.

I’m standing by the station door,

waiting for the shift to feel.