a poem- inspired by Bill N
It's a draft- so I'd love feedback
At 18, I took that job
pumping gas,
full-service. Sunoco
gave me a shirt-
"Jeff"- (he'd worked there
many years).
Pumping gas was not that bad.
I excelled at washing windows and
making change.
But once a day, you
would ask me to
check your oil.
I'd pop the hood and look
around, unsure, unable
to find what I was looking for.
I'd count to ten,
slam-shut the hood and come
round to your open window.
"You're doing fine, but next time
you might need some oil."
You'd drive away, never
knowing who I really was,
and I hoped
you'd do better next time, find
an attendant
who knew what
he was doing. Now,
I'm better with cars, but still
fumbling under the hood,
pretending I know how and when
to give you what you need.
