Half-Life Glow

Two AM. The pumps stand stark and tall,

the only car, a silent, dark machine.

Fluorescent hums against the wall,

a constant, buzzing, sterile sheen.

The puddles gleam, like oil, black glass,

reflecting back the harsh white light.

No crickets sing within the grass,

just the vast, hollow space of night.

The smell of gas, so sharp and keen,

mixed with the cold and metallic air.

An empty promise, caught between

the going and the getting there.

I paid inside, a quick exchange.

No faces met, just hands that passed.

A temporary, quiet range,

of something that was built to last

until the morning broke and cleared

the edges of this lonely place.

And all the quiet things I feared

returned to fill the empty space.