Gas station

The orange gas light flickered on the dash.  At least it’s not the Red light, Roxanne. 

I drive my Subaru to pump two.  At least it’s daylight.

I get out and my pink dress sways in the wind.  At least I’m mostly covered. 

I walk into the shop, all eyes are on me.  At least I’m not the only female. 

I hand the boy forty bucks, at least he doesn’t tease me like the others have.

I wait for my change and he counts it out, at least it’s the right amount. 

He hands me my change, and says “ten is your change beautiful”.  At least he didn’t touch my hand. 

I walk out and fill my tank.  At least I’m out of there.

I close the car doors.  At least I’m safe and aware. 

I start my car.  I look down at my body, a females body.  At least I’m not oblivious to the world around me.  At least I can see that my growth spurt affected more than just my height.  At least, I know I’m not a kid anymore.  At least now I know what to expect in the future from our society. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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