Filling station

At the filling station,
White and black smoke
Attempts to make us choke

Rims kept spinning around
Heading to where hush sound
The birds sang, horns buzz

Insane walked free, sane squeeze
Queuing, suddenly saying bye
Seconds pass, others passed by

Young and old breath trooped in
For all sort of tanks refill
All colors present blended as one

Underneath the dark light
Where canopies made a shade
No man or woman had a blade

‘Buy my own, buy from me please‘
Many screamed, for hustle to ease
Some were smiling, others worried

But kept drinking and eating
Off the pocket for the items
They purchased, for desires

No apartheid, no damn favor
The doubled woman and working men
Sweat in pain for reward of labor

No one brought out divine crosses
Or craving ivory yet salvation
Lived in peace, with no bruises

Far beyond visible tribal marks
Two things we all had in common
Was to live and earn, as an atom.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu