The destruction of America occurs inside an am/pm
L Vargas

jacked up on caffeine

hooked up on nicotine

racked up on gasoline

the fall of the American empire

will occur

inside an am/pm

3 hot dogs for 1.99

and orange cheese that glues

jalapeno peppers

to the walls of a sphincter

greasy pig parts

processed lard plaque

baked chili guts

ketchup

and mayonnaise

how much can one colon take?

40 ounce bottles of nigga killa

malt liquor

in a chilled rack

next to 24-ounce cans

of  man’s man beer

good riddance is all that’s said

by a fat white man

eating pasty white buns

tabloids talk of celebrity gods

and detail their plight

stalkerrazzi’s pursue

Technicolor lives

in sterile gate estates

how much worse is a break-up

to a sorry fuck five degrees removed

who wastes a precious three minutes

oblivious and concerned?

energy drinks sell the kids on overtime

in a shiny bottle and a clever campaign

rule number one

never drink anything

that looks like battery acid

and tastes like it too

nervous glances in the candy aisle

mom substitutes

honey for affection

and baby learns to cherish

a peanut-butter Twix-fix

or perhaps a fried rootspud

caked with macro-mono-pseudo-phate

cigarette cartons align like a cargo drop

ready to be dispersed

and deliver a payload

of health care and rotten lung

to a courier

whose essential role

is moving papers

and transferring funds

gas pumps churn the drug

that putt, putt, putts

the engine along

and holds nations of millions

under its dirty thumb

careless patrons on hand held devices

donate their convenience

three times a week

to the mighty and relentless am/pm

chiseling and developing

a doomsday device

the last great hope

is that

cel phones and cigarettes

can ignite gas lines

and save America

from destruction

delivered the am/pm