Vending Machine

By Lynn (Poem) & Glynn (Illustrations) Osburn

©1986

 

 

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Pressed wood door cracks ajar

Staring eyes within, look far.

The hallway is clear.

Out steps our hero near,

Shadows on the wall.

Cravings have forced him to call

On the vending machine.

 

 

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Nervous, filled with regret

Our hero must have a cigarette.

He smoked his last one at noon

The hours since—he searched his room.

And found not so much as a butt.

Now mumbling about rotten luck

He steals for the vending machine.

 

 

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Reaching the object of his journey,

In the slot he shoves his money.

Then pulls the lever of his favorite brand.

Awaiting the pack with outstretched hand,

He is soon informed by metallic jargon,

The vending machine has not kept the bargain.

 

Vending machine, O vending machine

Evil son of mad science dream,

Your glass face filled with objects of desire

Draws pockets of change from any buyer.

With the turn and click of a lever

You swallow a man's change forever.

 

 

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Our hero knows it's just not fair.

His longing turns to despair.

Frustration builds, it's nasty mean

To a man long without nicotine.

Violent with loss of temper

Hands of flesh try to dismember

The vending machine.

 

 

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Painful knuckles make him realize

Punching steel is not very wise.

If indeed he wishes to destroy

Other means he must employ.

A hammer is a simple device.

With blows that are precise

He can smash the vending machine.

 

 

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"In case of fire break glass"

Of course, inside lies an ax.

Upon this plan he has decided

And swings the ax much excited.

With fearful blows he does decree

Vending machine become debris

 

 

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Vending machine, O vending machine

Evil son of mad science dream.

Your glass face filled with objects of desire

Draws pockets of change from any buyer.

With the turn and click of a lever

You swallow a man's change forever.