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.
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