Pumping Gas

He was sixteen, dressed in a uniform
had blue eyes and a trail of freckles
across his nose, not the best looking
but with hormones peaking it didn’t matter

“Can I filler-up?” he asked through
the window, I said, "A dollar's worth,"
then he proceeded to unscrew
the lid of the gas tank, put the pump
on automatic, while he washed
the windows and rear view mirror
checked the oil and air pressure.

Took my five dollars and brought me change
touching my fingers and staring into my eyes.
I took only a few gallons at a time
since I shared the car with my brothers,
who usually left the tank dry every time

but I didn’t mind, I worked part-time,
and this young man at the Chevron station,
thrilled my heart with his tousled hair
and greasy fingernails, he always greeted

me with a smile and seemed sincere

when he asked, “Can I filler-up?”