The Corner Store Vending Machine / Out-of-Order

the vending machine sits in the corner of the store’s embrace,

flickering lights taunt its steel coin return.

for the flickering lights at least have time left,

but the vending machine’s pick-up box will remain empty.

the red sign on its screen reads as follows:

out-of-order, useless.

behind its glass facade, it weeps, cries of sorrow

its constant humm turned into nothing more than a whisper.

no more coins are clinking for the poor machine

there are no more clinks and clacks of plenty,

rows of treats are long gone by now,

yet the neon lights still shine bright in vain.

the vending machine stands tall, but its gears have halted.

it shines bright and remains well-fed with coins and crumpled dollar bills,

but its keypad remains broken, its coin return empty.

the vending machine lies in the corner of the store,

broken and forgotten.

its lights are long gone by now, but its gears are still turning.

it prays for a mechanic,

he does not find any.

it is left to whisper tales of longing,

yearning for a life that once was,

but will never be again.