Oasis

As if only upon the remembrance of fuel

my car rolls into the gas station

like the first beast of burden

to finally think for itself

and stops

I pump high-octane as a plea

and beg it, stroking its rusted quarter panel

for at least three more zeroes

or four more bald tires

coaxing it with premium liquid chocolates

and some little verse

when suddenly I see, pasted upon the pump

a statement refusing third-party checks

and scribbled to the side, I read

that Crystal loves Bobby (signified by a plus and needing no equal)

in faded blue ink

But Bobby is now crossed out

Crystal’s made the effort to come back

not for the penny less a gallon

but to tell Bobby

her tank is full

and she pumps her own gas