Mishawaka, IN

The girl at the gas station lies
to me because she doesn't
want to hurt my feelings.

She's not really as happy
as she says she is.

She used to hum
with the fluorescent lights
and her eyes would twinkle.

Now the octane
is lower, unleaded.

Long nights of service,
the customers are numb.
A clock reaches for the exit.

Even the birds
wish that winter was over.