Break Time

by Glen Martin Fitch

Consumed with anger
and self-pity too
I heard
my wounded inner-toddler whine.
Before the vending shit machine
I knew to poise above the C,
to thumb the 9.
As good as chewed and flushed!
"Oh God, I hate myself!"
I fed the bill.
Without a doubt it sucked it up.
I said, "Now it's too late."
My chin dropped
as it spit the dollar out.
The jones-ing was still running
in my skull.
I pray to God to show his love
and then...
My second thought
was "It's a miracle"
My first was
"I can't put it in again."
I bought a Diet Coke®.
Then pinched my jaw.
Left feeling weird,
yet with a kind of awe.


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011