Pin It

Poem: 25.9 


Two gas pumps, in the shadow of a winged-stallion,
stood side by side like American Gothic.
My furlough completed, duty-bound for battalion,
I wondered aloud and questioned the logic

of fractional pricing at dust-bowl gas stations,
nine-tenths of a cent unlike that of a mile,
the price they are paid in these situations
for having foresight and marketing guile.

Traveling in uniform, 1968,
the country at war within and without
I could catch any ride and cross any state.
Never since, have I had that kind of clout.

In the Kansas high-plains they get twenty-five nine,
when you’re running on fumes, at the end of the line.

  • A poem by Paul R. Clemente


Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

Readers also liked…

Hudson Valley Events

submit event

Surface; Silver, Plexiglas, Other Materials

Mondays-Thursdays. Continues through Aug. 1 — Handmade jewelry & objects by Josiah Dearborn....

Student Works 2017

Mondays-Fridays. Continues through May 24 — This annual exhibition features work created by students in the Fine Art,...

View all of today's events

Latest in Poetry

Hudson Valley Tweets