Poetic Interlude IX

Within the lights of the gas station

I see golden eyes peering down,

A mother releasing her nourishing fluid

Into the belly of the beast that carries us.

My brother strides into her chest,

To get peanuts and pringles,

And he returns with coffee that smells like ladybugs.

He starts the car - I sense a longing,

A wish to keep us here longer.

"Maybe we could smoke a cigar on the sidewalk."

I say, hoping it will appease her.

My brother laughs. He looks at the gum on the sidewalk.

"We don't have a cigar."

I agree.

We don't have a cigar, but I thank the mother.

Silently, I thank her.

And I bless her with wishes.

Wishes of clean-eared boys in army vehicles,

Truckers with cowboy hats,

Families too tired to argue,

Young lovers with distracted eyes.