Oh, but it is dirty!

--this little filling station, 

oil-soaked, oil-permeated 

to a disturbing, over-all 

black translucency. 

Be careful with that match!



Father wears a dirty, 

oil-soaked monkey suit 

that cuts him under the arms, 

and several quick and saucy 

and greasy sons assist him 

(it's a family filling station), 

all quite thoroughly dirty.



Do they live in the station? 

It has a cement porch 

behind the pumps, and on it 

a set of crushed and grease-

impregnated wickerwork; 

on the wicker sofa 

a dirty dog, quite comfy.



Some comic books provide 

the only note of color--

of certain color. They lie 

upon a big dim doily 

draping a taboret 

(part of the set), beside 

a big hirsute begonia.



Why the extraneous plant? 

Why the taboret? 

Why, oh why, the doily? 

(Embroidered in daisy stitch 

with marguerites, I think, 

and heavy with gray crochet.)



Somebody embroidered the doily. 

Somebody waters the plant, 

or oils it, maybe. Somebody 

arranges the rows of cans 

so that they softly say:

ESSO--SO--SO--SO



to high-strung automobiles. 

Somebody loves us all.

Used by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc. "Filling Station" from The Complete Poems 1927-1979 by Elizabeth Bishop. Copyright © 1979, 1983 by Alice Helen Methfessel.

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