Updated: Aug 5, 2018
by Lewis Gardner
There are two tables in this gas station to drink your coffee at.
Misjudging the time needed to drop stuff off at the landfill’s
dumpsters, I have an hour till my next appointment.
Time to waste, to fill, to kill. If I were a meditator,
my extra time could be deployed spiritually.
If I had to study for a course, I could do that.
If I weren’t among strangers, I’d talk to someone.
The disease of the West is shame at hours that can’t be billed,
that create no profit. The wasted days and hours of my life
could be an earlier death, nothing to do except regard
this long rack of bags of snacks, the colors bright,
the bags gleaming in morning sunlight.
O splendid snacks! So many ways to use the Earth’s bounty,
denoted in the world’s tongues: Chex Mix, Snyder’s, Munchies,
Doritos, Tostitos, Doodles, Pretzels, Ridgies, Kettle Chips.
O splendid world! Outside this station, a machine offers
Free Air! So what if all I do right now is drink coffee
and study the possibility of snacks?
About the author: Lewis Gardner has been published in many magazines and anthologies. His plays have been performed and published around the world.
In my written work – poems, fiction, plays, essays – I believe in communication with readers. I don't think it makes sense to write in a way that is difficult or impossible to understand. Writing can be self-expression for the writer, but it must also be useful to the reader.