There was something eerie in the air,
An absence I could not identify.
An immense single-pump gas station,
Shimmering like a mirage in the heat,
Took up a good part of the main drag.
I pull in. Step into the heat stunned.
The car is too hot to touch.
I needed gas but didn't want to get it there.
It meant digging up the attendant.
From the poem 'PROVO'
by Mark Rudman