Gas Dock Girl

We stopped for gas not long ago,

 Served by Gas Dock Girl, with golden skin aglow.

 I pumped gas at Outlet forty years before,

Her mother worked at Elkins during the summer of seventy-four.

I looked into her eyes, it was her mother I saw.

I hid my blush, holding a hat against my cheek and jaw.

My wife asked me what could be wrong,

Just old memories dear, like a favorite song.

Terry Robinson

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