Shadow Petrol Head Worlds Poem by Terence George Craddock

still breathing
not writing
in the shadows
of petrol pumps

poets do not pitied fall on their prolific pens
just standing walking through fume molasses
ten hour shifts but pumps more than pay bills

as the body thins into new shapes
swift wakeful sleepy routine minds
splitting between struck till keys

defines tank needs
in busy week endings
weekend shadow worlds
shadow petrol head worlds


Copyright © Terence George Craddock