Oddities Off the Five Freeway

Fluorescent light rains onto cracked concrete–

there’s a blue Chevron sign, the price changes 

everyday. We’re in the middle of the night,

Area 51 has more inhabitants

than this empty gas station off the five.

The clerk is sitting behind 

the counter like he’s a robot:

programmed to sell you cigarettes and gum.

His 1985 Volvo sits in a parking space

and it hasn’t moved since 2001.

The trash cans are empty,

the gas tanks underground are full,

and the only person who observes

the oddities of this other planet is you;

outside of your coupe, ears pricked 

to every cricket chirp, eyes alert

for every phantom movement in the shadows,

in a place that only appeared when you appeared,

and when you’re gone, it will be too.