CLXXXVIII

There is a boon that comes but once a while,

an angel who can silence pain, though keen.

My Deus ex Machina for a mile:

the valiant, valorous Vending Machine.

Betimes its contents smite me with their lack,

or when its organs fail to operate.

But there are other days when I fall back

confused at how our souls corroborate.

It now has bagged Knott’s Berry Farm shortbread,

and Butterfinger bars up near the top.

A Reese’s Fast Break (dear for warding dread),

and Snickers (if the others fail to drop).

A life without its novelties we live,

but Vending Machines still have much to give.