WHAT'S THERE

Convenience stores are the pillars of

modern society. Along with libraries and the

statue of liberty there are the shops on corners.

The property that most people don’t want,

in between the bricks of better buildings. The laws

of physics state that no more than three people

can be in one at once. You, the guy who’s looking at

porn, and someone’s dad behind the counter.

I want to eat a bong shaped cake. Maybe

dip my hair in it to get in other people’s

mouths. Live in a house built only out of

the wrappers of kit kats and some empty

energy drinks. I always wanted to touch

the cigarettes behind the counter.

Always wanted to stick them in

between my lips and my tongue and chew.

When I was 13 we would all go to the

corner store and drink fizzy pop

and lick ice cream. The height of my existence

to consume the guts of what’s easy. I began

to feel bad about my body and wouldn’t

eat hot chicken nuggets anymore. Only some

grape soda and a bag of salt and vinegar

chips. Cold. Slicked with sweat.

The kicker is that when I desired convenience

most I wouldn’t let myself have it. I wanted

the magazines with tits in them and a hand

full of skittles. Was never allowed,

I had all the quarters but none of the nuts.

My body didn’t digest properly, the skin

and the sugar too much. Bake me into the

wonder bread and twinkies. Package me,

50 cents a piece. Simple stuff, a body.

Sometimes I find mine in my local convenience

store. Sometimes I let it rot in the bathroom

out back.