Don't Stop Moving

One shot,
fired loud into the thick air.
The night is dense,
the fog amidst a battleground.

It is quiet,
and so loud.
A spirit escapes,
into the nearby bushes.

Lights flash,
and tires squeal,
tearing through the silence.
The skin growing colder.

The scene is crowded,
but just for a moment.
Cars continue driving past.
Gasoline leaks onto the ground.

Note pads get filled,
and tape decorates the pump.
A hose clears the asphalt,
of the reddened fuel.

Once more,
the night is empty.
Crickets chirping,
and neon signs blinking.

Lonely passerby's,
take no notice
of the tape
and wet concrete.

Cars continue past,
occasionally one stopping,
for some gas,
and annoyed,


by the inconvenience of a closed pump.