The clerk at Speedway gas
twenty-three, finding his way 
paying his bills, nonplused by
daily c-store customer bravado
front-door panhandlers
drunks, stoners, general cranks
happily suffering fools 
all sources of intoxication

Quiet Wednesday, mid-afternoon
commotion at the pumps
immigration commandos 
trying to fuel their vehicles 
beset upon by yelling
whistle-blowing, horn-honking
neighbors, legal observers
raising a ruckus, officer’s ire
sinister looks as agents eye their
colleagues working pumps

A customer dumps just purchased
potato chips on ICE leader…
with impunity, no retribution

That night, citizen videos lead
all the newscasts, focus on
chip-wearing leader whining about 
protestors, citizens
 ‘not even letting his people use
the bathroom in peace!’

The clerk watches it 
from his couch smiling broadly in
bemused satisfaction
knowing his singular contribution 
to the kerfuffle
totally missed
yet he is proud, remembering
his simple, mid-afternoon
snarled retort to 
routine customer request:
“No way in hell I’m giving you guys
the fuckin’ restroom code.”


– Mark Lucker
© 2026