The abandoned Shell gas station
lies washed up near the highway.
Heatwaves rise like dreams
in traffic blurring past
to destinations beyond.
Weeds are allowed
to grow in cracks
like tree seeds dropped
into boulder crevices
to sprout and heave roots
like Samson leaning
on the temple pillars.
Shell gas station;
a conch shell pushed
ashore by waves
like mirage heat
boiling once reality.
Listen to the conch
echo whispers of the ocean
like abandoned gas station
hearing tires buzz on the pavement.
