Filling Station
Elizabeth Bishop
Oh, but it is dirty!
- this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeated
to a disturbing, over-all
black translucency.
Be careful with that match!
Father wears a dirty,
oil-soaked monkey suit
that cuts him under the arms,
and several quick and saucy
and greasy sons assist him
(it's a family filling station),
all quite thoroughly dirty.
Do they live in the station?
It has a cement porch
behind the pumps, and on it
a set of crushed and grease-
impregnated wickerwork;
on the wicker sofa
a dirty dog, quite comfy.
Some comic books provide
the only note of color -
of certain color. They lie
upon a big dim doily
draping a taboret
(part of the set), beside
a big hirsute begonia.
Why the extraneous plant?
Why the taboret?
Why, oh why, the doily?
(Embroidered in daisy stitch
with marguerites, I think,
and heavy with gray crochet.)
Somebody embroidered the doily.
Somebody waters the plant,
or oils it, maybe. Somebody
arranges the rows of cans
so that they softly say:
ESSO-SO-SO-SO
to high-strung automobiles.
Somebody loves us all.
4 comments:
This could describe hundreds of gas stations we´ve stopped at, both in the U.S. and especially in other countries! Wow! I love it!
very descriptive poem - I can picture the filling station, the dirt, and the loving touches.
You find the most amazing poems!
Hugs,
~Michelle
Dynamite! I love the poetic attention to mundane details, and the unexpected ending. That was a great pick. Thanks, Kris!
I really enjoyed this poem. The descriptions are so vivid and who can resist "impregnated wicker" with oil. I love the embroidered doily too. Thank you for this. It made me smile on this cloudy, Wednesday in which I have no idea what I am serving for dinner in half an hour.
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