THE PETROL STATION

Every eye watch me because

one: my hair, clothes, skin, shoes

is differing from people here.

Every eye watch me because

two: I not have car, cash, friends, trust.

I walk in petrol station

to Magic Trees department that give cars flower smell,

newspapers with many hard words,

magazines with many pictures of dirty beauty girls

and

celebrities with all the sexy muscle and money.

Then I see them

close to the pay area

and near the exit get away.

I spy candy sweets.

My stomach do see-saw.

My eyes pop.

Too long since I eat

any chocolate bar,

all sitting in rows like little sparkle soldiers

making technicolour in my eye.

Which one?

Which one?

I know shop workers want to catch thief in red hand

so I must act

super rapido:

grab

snatch

steal

bolt.

I do the quick nab,

open door and

Usain

Bolt fast.

Security man

sprint faster.

I tumble.

Security man’s big hand

dig in my shoulder.

Big carrot fingers

rip my trackie.

Tata will go off his bonkers

because he telling me many time

never let them catching you.

    But they always catching me.

    Three time now they catch.

That’s why

I cry and have massive press in the chest.

Not because another arrest

or security man sitting his arse on me,

but because I don’t want to be getting Tata’s

left right

right left

jab

to the abs or head.

I see it all in my imaginings:

me on floor,

Tata snorting nose steam like bull,

Mămică helping my

tears

and

blood.

I am terror full.

That’s why

I hoping police will be my protect

when Tata come get me

from

cell station.