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.