an octane that calls not the junk man

I have driven down many miles
bright leather seats thin and worn
wrinkled in heaps that were not
paint cracked and fading to dust
smooth silence fleeing the grease
hinges creak and bolts do rattle

under the aged knocking pistons
oily liquids leak in shallow pools
shaped of the giggles of children
sitting at stools of the high test pump
I wait coughing for the cheapest stuff
an octane that calls not the junk man

Robert Filos is an author of poetry and short stories that combine beauty and wit while highlighting social justice issues. Published worldwide his poetry received over 40,000 views in 2017. Born and raised in The Bronx, he now resides in the South Carolina Low-country with his wife and children. He can be reached at Read other articles by Robert.