Coke Machine
Can I ask you something?
Do you also have days in which you feel like an out-of-order Coke machine?
The reason I’m asking is because that’s exactly how I feel today—
like a Coke machine, still lit up and humming,
appearing like any other properly functioning vending machine
ready to exchange my contents for crisp dollar bills
except I’m suffering some internal shortcoming
that keeps me from fulfilling my end of the bargain
This morning, for example, I couldn’t write so I gave up and went fishing
it was so windy though that it proved useless,
so I came home and tried to nap
but the neighbors dog was barking up a storm,
so I put on some shorts and went for a run
only to remember that my right knee is fucked,
so I hobbled home, brewed a bad cup of coffee and began on my taxes
which inevitably lead to me looking at old pickup trucks on craigslist
until I realized I can’t buy shit until I get my tax return
so I forced myself back into TurboTax twenty seconds before my uncle called
to ask me if I knew where something was
but I couldn’t understand what the hell he was saying because the reception was bad
so I went back to the writing work I’d forfeited this morning
only to feel that familiar ineptness
like I’ve got a can turned sideways inside me
so that no matter how many times a button is pressed
ain’t nothing coming out. Not a Coke, not a root beer, not even a Sprite.