The petrol pump attendant

He stares again at oil in a rain puddle,
kingfisher streaks, blue and green and gold.
He's seen this kaleidoscope so many times
he cannot admire the colours anymore
and mostly the oil reminds him of shoes
while the hours from two to ten inch on
not even hours, the one hour grinding over
and over - except for a day when his boss,
sporting a pair of flashy cream shoes,
stepped out of the car into the oil puddle
and effed and blinded to his dainty wife
"A hundred and twenty five pounds, the hoors!"
and kept on yelling it like a shout of grief
"A hundred and twenty five hooring pounds!"
Except for that one day the hour drags on
time spreadeagled over dirty ground.
​
Published in The Blue Guitar (Salmon Poetry 2011)