In the fluorescence of the 7 Eleven,
among the rows of artificial food and drink,
the donuts saw what we did.
And their holes were filled with warmth
stripped from them at birth.
And the Slurpee machine abandoned
its coldblooded nature.
And the Milky Way bars came down to earth.
And the sour worms were sweetened
while the Sour Patch Kids grew up.
And our Chuck Taylors were subpoenaed
as possible co-conspirators,
but the laces were undone, as is the case,
which we couldn’t lose given the jury of peers—
smokes, beer, gum, candy, clear eyes, coffee, and Coke.
They all saw the beauty in the crime
that took place when you held my hand
and slipped an Abba-Zaba into your purse for me.