A Texaco Station

It had no charm.
It smelled of gasoline and grease
It had a gigantic red star
On a high post
Near the street
Emblazoned with:
TEXACO.

You can trust your car
To the man who wears
The star
The big
Bright
Texaco Star!

Along the front of the station
Roof top-tall
Brightly colored plastic pendants
Snapped in the breeze.

Near the door
To the small office
Stood a squat
Red Coca Cola cooler
The kind with a maze
Of runners each bottle
Must navigate
To give a boy with a quarter
A painfully cold soft drink.

Mitch ran the place.
He had a pencil moustache
And dark green coveralls
Stained with oil and dirt.
Mitch had a goofy smile
Stretching
Beneath dark eyes.

Laying across the service bay
Between twin rows of pumps
Was a rubber hose
That chimed a bell
Telling Mitch
To get out there
Clean the windshield
Check the oil
Check the water
Check the air in the tires
And pump that Ethyl gasoline.

Deep within the cavern
Of the garage
Was a 1966 calendar
Featuring a naked red head
Cupping her enormous breasts
With a “come hither” smile.

As a kid
I always found reason
To visit the garage
When Mitch was busy elsewhere.

The white tile station
With its cracked concrete bay
Dirty glass
Girlie calendar
And the tactile textures
A boy must not forget
Is long gone.

It does not matter
What inhabits that address today.
What matters is that
Once upon a time
There was a service station
That remains
In the memory of an aging man
Who cannot forget
He once was a little boy
That loved
A greasy
Dirty
Noisy
Smelly
Amazing
And forever gone
Texaco station.