Gasoline

Written for the "Sensory memory" Competition

It’s the scent of kids chroming at the gas station
it was all over the news
an epidemic of petrol sniffers
though I never could understand why
anyone would want to lean too closely
and inhale

I’ve never liked the smell, but it takes me back
to hot city streets and dead grass
and childhood depression
of spending too much time in cars
from a to b and back again
useless destinations

It’s the scent of a winter night
and teenage boredom
a stick slick in the moon light
and the flick of a lighter
it’s the failed combustion of flames
and improvising with candles
lit all over the road
hiding in bushes and laughing
as the cars swerved around them

It’s the disappointment of someone pulling over
and blowing them out and confiscating every single one of them
it’s the memory of sadness over losing my best candles

It’s fumes wafting,  
in my early twenties
from a homemade sparkler bomb
the liquid added for extra spark
let off in the backyard
that left the dog shaking in fear
as we watched with exhilaration at the explosion
and guilt over the tormented dog

It’s the scent of rebellion
youthful hopelessness and depression
of powerlessness and the insatiable desire
to light something, anything, on fire
just to watch it burn

© Indie Adams 2012