Gas Station

It's metal door
won't stop clashing
with the wall.
It just sits there
in the middle
of an empty
parking lot that
has cement cracks
like dry skin
in dry weather.
The owner doesn't bother
putting up new roofing.
He just throws a metal
sheet on top.
The road in front stretches
into the burning
ball of flame
that is in the sky.
The broken down
beast has a tumbleweed
that waltzes across
the front by drifting on
pockets of air.
Birds take refuge
in a pile of metal,
cobwebs and
the tumble weeds.
The gates that have been
so many times have
just been tossed
to the sidelines
of the ghost building.
The wind eats away
at the paint
and makes the metal
scraps shed its skin.
It has been used
as a refugee camp
countless times
with cigarettes and
cans all over
the floor. The old
frappe machine
is unplugged and is now
a house of mice.
If you look at the
floorboards they
are cracking, snapping, and
popping just like rice
crispy cereal.
These are the ingredients
to make a deserted
gas station. At night
it transforms
into the silhouette
of a monster trudging
through darkness,
as the wind picks up.

Through the 3rd Eye was supported in its inception by the Grand Rapids Humanities Council and is currently made possible by continued volunteer effort and private support. Copyright 2013.