A dreadful fear of vending machines

Staring into the food dispensary I eye up the candidates;
Each stares back with its deceiving, non-degradable eyes,
Taking its time, taking its time.
I can’t decide, I’m overwhelmed with the choice, the easiness
And the lack of interest I can summon.

Yes chocolate, the round, coated balls of honeycomb,
The thick, sugary, nutty things that stare me down,

Candy gunslingers.

‘You lookin’ at me kid?’
The Twix, two chocolate fingers stuck up firmly in my direction.
‘Eat me, sonofabitch’.

I push somebody past me.
“You go first”: I’m not ready to face the mouth of the monster.

I stuff my pound into its metallic jaw and punch in the number,
Forced to conform to its corrupted language.
The packet falls, the change rattles through its skeletal interior.

Snatching up the packet of Skittles I devour the beads of fruitiness.
I ponder their significance – are the rainbow colours there to counter the drabness of the season’s?


I collect the vomited money from its maw.
Twenty pence.



The bugger short-changed me.