Open Wawa on Closed Nuclear Test Site
$20 max, 3-minute pumping time limit on unleaded gasoline.
Most signage is teaching me to spell
diesel and donuts with exclamation marks.
Clouds are speech bubbles: nobody’s talking.
I Wawa watch a child fill’er up squeezing both hands
as the parents Wawa watch me dial all fingers
my personal code for Ultimate Touchless Carwash.
Nubby microbial film developed upon my windshield
like a horror movie. Hydro blasts clean it in sheets.
Final layer like human skin.
There’s also a port for dust painting
sports cars (silver popular choice,
oddly only choice) and a port that crushes relics
from Byzantium into playground sand.
Truckers bite onion sandwiches, discuss how
Nevada’s never mentioned in national news.
The napkins are thick and I take sixteen.
I know it’s not mouths— who knows what
body parts the rest of these diners wipe?
I use one to dry my right eye because I’m unevenly weeping.