In one of the side streets
of a small hot town
off the highway
we saw the garage,
its white boards peeling
among fronds and palings.
The sun had cut a blaze
off the day. The petrol pump
was from the sixties�
of human scale
and humanoid appearance
it had a presence,
seemed the attendant
of our adventures on the road,
the doorman of our chances.
We pulled in, for nostalgia,
onto
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