stability rings the doorbell

at the Mobil in West Hartford,
I was too tired to lift the squeegee,
so I tilted my head to the clouds
and watched the birds
and swiped the Speedpass
and
this is how it all went down
as I awaited a full tank of gas
when I found myself at the
crossroads of an
unresolved metaphysical cliffhanger.

the Camry from Texas arrived quietly,
and the Pittsburgh Pirate with the
Hollister tee left his car, stretched his limbs,
revealing a flash of hairy midriff and
a medical scar, then answered his
cellphone with a strident ‘yallo!’
before declaring he’d rather vomit
than eat pickles.

the Hyundai from Tennessee drove past me
and screeched to the adjacent pump.
the young, fair-haired driver with the bangs
unbuttoned his gray blazer, wiping
Dorito flecks from his jeans, then his feet,
then asked his passenger, ‘where’s my parka?’
before opening his wallet to see
he hadn’t any fives.

the Dodge Ram from South Carolina
howled of flirtation with the devil, but the
grizzled and gray driver seemed more
half-eaten by satanic appetite than
tempted to a contract of horns.
he had the look of a subjugated Sasquatch,
imprisoned Black Tiger and Wild Pegasus
in his eyes. he saw mine and released a groan
before rolling his keys into his fist
and limping to a pile of firewood on the periphery.

on the main road, the blue Honda Civic traveled
behind a black Honda Civic traveling behind
a grey Honda civic that traveled behind
a hearse, all passing the Men’s Wearhouse,
and I was temporarily upset by the wordplay
of I Am Satan appearing in the word Samaritan.

my mother exited the Food Mart,
clutching paper napkins,
‘do you want a Zagnut and a coffee for the road?’

that morning, my bookstore dilemma was
Mills’ Utilitarianism vs.
Sartre’s Being and Nothingness.
which one was the imperative,
which one would help my street cred?
I decided to leave the decision in the hands
of coconut and peanut brittle. later, the
coffee was spilled somewhere near Danbury.