AND THEN THERE WAS GODFREY
‘You look like happy birds in there.’
Unusual greeting by the gas station
Attendant.
Processing: literal birds?
Nope.
Birds, like in a British pub?
Nope.
Godfrey offers a wee smile,
Gazes at the sky of
Increasing cloudiness.
Entirety of self realizes
This is A Moment.
I hand him the payment card:
‘Please fill the tank with regular.’
He moves softly, quietly,
Doing his job-
Which is not his job.
Returning to my lowered window
He gives a little cough,
Proceeds with his heart.
‘When I was eight years old,
I decided to make
Everyone in the world
My friend.
People think I pump gas,
But all I am is an Aviation Event.’
Aha, my brain proceeds,
Method to madness to meaning.
Birds fly.
Birds soar.
Birds sing.
Bids make nests.
My brain proceeds but
Godfrey is not done.
‘Now folk don’t see me,
They see the gas pump.
They judge me.
But I am not down here.
I am soaring.
I am making friends.’
The last tank of petrol
On the last day of traveling
On the last leg of the journey
Yields another blessing on top of
A thousand blessings in a
Mere two weeks.
It is easy to make eye contact
With this Aviation Event.
It is easy to smile
With this Aviation Event.
It is easy to cry a bit
With this Aviation Event.
The pump clicks off.
The chocolate gentleman
Of soft voice and white beard
Hands me the card and receipt.
‘Yes,’ he states, ‘I am making progress.’
Indeed.
Godfrey has two new friends.
‘God bless you Godfrey.’
‘God bless you too.’
It is only then
I realize that,
On the Garden
State Parkway ,
In the midst of crushing rush hour,
We were, most unusually,
The only car at the pumps.
(CarolAnn Edscorn, Jaffrey ,
NH. April 10. 2015)
.JPG)
