Filling Station

Oh, but it is dirty!
--this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeatedgas_station.jpg
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.Gas_Station_extinction.jpg

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:

to high-strung automobiles.
Somebody loves us all.

At first glance I didn’t really like this poem, but looking at it again, I realize that what she is writing about is more than just a dirty filling station. She is writing about how even what seems unlovable to one person is loved by another. She writes in the very last line, “somebody loves us all.” She makes use of alliteration and assonance and her usual amazing imagery to bring this dirty little filling station to life for her readers. You can clearly see the cement porch, with the greasy wicker furniture and the dirty dog “quite comfy” laying on the greasy wicker couch.