Beneath the faded seat

Of a sagging eleven year old

Automobile I found the half-drunk

Bottle. It crinkles softly

Not thick skinned enough to resist

The pressure of a single hand

Around its middle, but I drink deeply from it

Anyway, despite the heavy feeling

in the pit of a stomach already full

of Mexican-flavored fast food

because I know there’s a chance that

I could get sick with cancer from

its plastic. What a world where

One gulp foresees such a future,

All from water which brought us forth from

twirling amoeba to crouching convenience swisher

of questionable ideas.

Wonder of wonders waiting beneath seats

to wash clean the window to our true soul.



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