Service Station Sandwich

As she locked the locks, and twisted the windows shut, and
Emptied the expired guts of the fridge, and double checked the times
And dates on her ticket,
The maudlin middle aged man mentally prepared his plans.
She soon slammed the worn car door shut,
With a small peck on the cheek and a goodbye for good luck,
She was off to the sky for a week, to a Pacific island
Filled with delights.
All that was left for the man was a sigh,
Click the indicator on to the right.
He had little to miss, the same as her,
Turned on the radio with a hand that had just brushed through thinning hair,
With a fuck, he made the turnoff to a downed neighbourhood,
One where addicts shuddered and stood,
For beneath the carpeted floorboards hid a crinkled stash,
A rubber band roll of fraudulent copied cash,
Soon despite empty threats and evil eyes, he used a spoon to light up a high,
Then the girls with the dope dead eyes called him into the room with a smile,
And in his guts twisted the acid of guilt, but it quick passed while he was inside
One of those girls with the dope dead eyes,
Then he went back to being outside, where he wished and cried,
But God played deaf for he didn’t die,
And he carried this cycle on for a week, in between calling in sick, and stomaching all the greasy food he could lick,
He saved the final day for complete rest,
For even though he’s a total wreck and a wretch,
He’s smart enough to realise








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