Gastro-Station
by J.T.P. Hanks / August 16, 2026 / Poetry / Revelation in gastropods and gas stations!
© J.T.P. Hanks
What a draining, raining day. Two hours of writing an essay will do that I suppose, but it’s over now. Now all is left to cross this empty road, and jump into the bed. Oh, is that Leon? I wonder how he’s been… who’s that next to him? Ah well, l-let’s hurry up and get to the other side. 15 seconds felt like 15 minutes, but I made it. Now there’s the “fun” part, actually getting home.
One step,
Two step,
Red step,
Blue st-
Would you look at that, been a while since I saw a slug. Got some length to it too. Might as well take a picture, for memory’s sake. Hope you reach that grass!
Hope no one saw me, let’s get back on the stroll.
Black step,
Blue step,
Old st-
And another one! Hate having to keep taking off my headphones, but let’s take a pic. Keep moving forward! This video is getting good, didn’t know Jack Kerouac had a daughter.
New st-
Oh… this one is gone. I-i can’t t-take a pic of this one. I-i.. let me get back to walking… And now Leon is carrying them without a care in the world. Oh God, they’re crossing the road, to the same side as m-me. God…… Those slugs… were my brothers. For they were kids of God, just like me, and Leon, and them. Strolling on the way to the nearby gas station, I know I am.
Those two entered first… just get in there, get that delicious Big Blue,
and get out.
get out
out
Just got inside, let me pause my headphones. That’s how he wrote the Road? The gas station is so quaint. Leon and them are kind of close to those drinks, hiding behind the chip aisle, talking comfortably… how? Let me just go over there and go get that Bi-
“Hey!”
dang.
“Oh hey, Leon!”
Ok, now is time to grab and go… grab and go… Now to the counter, give a hey to the cashier, and pay em. Three dollars and sixty-five cents paid. One cent returned. And finally I can go. Why couldn’t I ask Leon about… them?
Six minutes felt like sixty minutes, but now, I’m home, or close to it at least.
This step has a little car.
This step has a little star.
Wait, who knocked that trashcan over there? so nasty, let me just get my foot
…
It’s not working
screw it
I have to pick it up
…
there we go! so nasty, but so right.
Say! What a lot of steps there are.
I made it home
home
home…
Let me just take a seat at the front por- Would you look at that. A snail on the mud, crawling and crawling towards the purple weeds. Another brother. Another kid of God… Then I walked my sore feet through the white door.
J.T.P. Hanks is a part-time student and creative writer from the Greater Houston area. His poetry has appeared in cloudymoon and Rind & Root. When not writing, he can often be found at the local creek, bothering the local wildlife.