The gas pump clicked and the handle kicked back

The gas pump clicked and the handle kicked back,

but a gallon of premium spilled on the floor.

It spread in a circle, glossy and black,

before blooming into something much more.

It’s a peacock’s tail in a gutter of rain,

a chemical rainbow that swirls in the grit.

A beautiful, toxic, and shimmering stain

that makes me feel dizzy just looking at it.

I’ve got the smell on the soles of my shoes,

that sharp, heavy rot of an ancient fuel.

It’s a strange kind of color to pick or to choose

when the ground is so jagged and cruel.