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Morning Dumbpome
by Tim Murray
We earnestly tidy up the kitchens of life
in order to instantly destroy them again
And receiving absolution for my sins
doesn’t necessarily prevent me from one day
having to pay
And the Gas City fillin’ station
out on Highway 30
is the type of place that sells
fireworks candy bars and tie dyed
t-shirts screaming
INDIANA
across the front
while that Elton John song
my folks named my younger brother after
blares thru the PA system
occasionally interrupted by the bored
cashier with microphone
“Ma’am, that lane is prepay only.”
“Sir, you have to press the green start button first.”
I pump ten bucks on number twelve
while contemplating
whether or not my younger brother’s predilection for
semi trucks, razor blades and pantyhose
has anything to do with having to
grow up with a name like
Crocodile Rock
Jan. 2011
133