Goose Clover (5)

   
   "Goose Clover (5)"
   
   @ the Amoco, I was pumping the dinosaur fuel for an auburn haired lady in a Ford Pinto; next, I knew Ralph Nader would get involved, and in the waaaay future, Donahue too, in all his weirdness, supporting him as a Green Party Candidate.  Us gas pumpers know plenty.
   Regardless, the lady with auburn hair lifted her head, revealing tears running down a face smeared in freckles.  I asked her to pay me for Amoco's services, and she was crying; furthermore, said to my astonished soul:  "Nobody likes me.  I'm not even an A cup; I wear a training bra, and I'm forty-seven years old; plus, everybody calls me Freckles."
   I took her payment; moreover, I consoled her; plus, asked her out on a date.  The shapeless divine and  those born with asymmetrical features--their corporeal aspects ridiculed.  Yet there is always a mirror of justice.  Bullies have to sneak up on themselves in the mirror.
   Anyway, we went to an Italian place for dinner.  There was candlelight.  She was humble, head down, but I asked to see her glimmering face; next, she displayed it for me, that sweet countenance totally covered in freckles, and deep-green eyes, haunting behind.  Could this be the love of my life?    She was so fractured and frail, yet had carried on for almost half a century, fighting the bullies and their beefy bravado, though wilted when the mystical rose reveals her bitter thorns.