I’m Salty

Those tiny billboards flash just out of sight

I reach in pocket, trade food for later –

A can of soda, a tray of tater –

though I know I shall regret that night.

 

I blame them! That tyrannical sugar sprite

curses encounters; their twisted creator

intent on making his number greater.

His pockets heave out: someone is less light.

 

Mouthfeel comforts, embracing like brother,

traps in esophagus dread stunted.

could, should have stopped – but anxiety pulls~

Must reach again, and take another…

 

I should probably do more meditation,

Not sink in sugary placiation.