Filling Station
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