SELF SERVICE ISLAND

People put there,
driving to be with each other.
Some are in taxis,
some haven't been back in years.
Some are here for the first time.
Some are driving automatically,
their cars taking them home
as their minds take them through bankbooks
and ancient conversations.
They are surprised
when they find themselves in their driveways
with the engine turned off. They go inside
to their families.
Some don't make it home.
Some drive trucks for a living, and keep going,
disappearing in the highway night.
I've stopped for gas and my mind drifts
as I stand in the cold drizzle
staring at the flying numbers
for cents per gallon.

(reproduced with respect but without permission)