After midnight, the fluorescent hum
spills from the gas station
onto wet asphalt.
The click and gulp of the pump,
gasoline sharp in the damp air.
Inside, the cashier,
a ghost in a blue smock,
scrolls through a life
on a small, bright screen.
The pump clicks off.
You nod to the window—
he doesn’t look up.
And you pull back onto the highway,
another small light
heading for morning.
