April 11th

Soda Can

The seventy five cents I put into the machine, was meant for washing clothes...

But as I stand here breathless, awaiting my prize I can't seem to find regret in my heart...

The familar clanging of a dropping soda can, it's comforting in a way...

But when it stops only half way down uncertainty settles in...

It starts with a little light tap, a movement in jest...

But soon becomes a violent swat as desperation fills my chest...

A shake, a curse, a lack of cans...

I should have washed the laundry.