Coke Machine
Yet another day in which I feel like a broken 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 went fishing
It was so windy though that it was useless to even cast a line
So I came home and tried to nap
But the neighbor’s 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 totally fucked
So after hobbling home, I brewed a bad cup of coffee and began on my taxes
Which inevitably devolved into me looking at old pickup trucks on facebook marketplace
Until I realized I can’t buy anything until I get my tax return
So I forced myself back into TurboTax for about twenty seconds till 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 connection was bad
So I hung up, said screw the taxes, and went back to the writing I’d forfeited in the morning
Only to feel that familiar ineptness when I stared down at the page
A downright inability to do absolutely anything
Like I’ve got a damned can turned sideways inside of me
So that no matter how many times a button is pressed
Ain’t nothing coming out of me—not a poem, not a signed 1040, not even a Sprite.