Ode to the D7

Standing at the behemoth to progress

glassy-eyed, stomach-rumbling beyond help,

I stare in confusion at numbers and letters

written like a Chinese menu.

Starry-eyed and in a trance, I am having

a mystical experience as I'm forced to choose.



Searching for coins produces crumpled dollar,

when inserted face up, rolls back and forth,

back and forth, unwilling to cooperate.

Frantic, devoid of patience, I empty my bag

in search of coins, dumping out the myriad contents

on the floor. I stoop and grab and count till I arrive

at the precise amount, while my stomach continues

to utter disgraceful words in public; students rush by,

some give strange looks.


I shove the coins in the machine, pushing the buttons

for D7... and out comes Three Musketeers. Damn Machine!

Give me my Baby Ruth! No returns, no refunds.

Always choices: eat the Three Musketeers or eat nothing.

No choice at all-- peristalsis has begun before the candy hits

my palate.



Mikki