It’s true, I actually wrote a poem about a vending machine.
And it’s not even a metaphor for anything (well, it kind of became one which you’ll see when you read) but what happened was this–
Years ago I was studying at my local community college and I was extremely tempted to get something from the vending machine though I knew I shouldn’t. So instead of getting something, I turned my inner turmoil into poetry as I actively reminded myself of the reasons why vending machines aren’t all that great anyway. Call me crazy, I already know I am, but I think it makes for a funny story and a funny poem.
One little known fact about me is that I love rhyming and I can/do make poems and songs about pretty much anything and everything, so here’s an example of that.
The Vending Machine
My trouble with the vending machine is that it just won’t leave me alone.
“Wait, stay, come back!” It says, but it just won’t let me go home.
When I come in or when I go out, it stares at me with devilish eyes,
And once I’m reeled in, Oh my goodness! Wow! What a surprise!
What an expense one must pay to enter its life threatening doom!
But oh how the temptation is strong when it shows you its glorious food!
There’s everything—donuts, cookies, chocolate, sugar, chocolate!
Suddenly I feel as though my poor body just cannot seem to get enough of it!
But my wallet can and it’s empty now… the food has taken it all.
Vending machine, release these chains and let the shackles of fatness fall.
My trouble with the vending machine is that it’s just a communist trap.
Okay, I don’t know what’s up with the communist part, but seriously, it’s full of crap.
My trouble with the vending machine is that the letters don’t even have Braille!
So what if I was a blind person huh? You’d be losing another sale!
My trouble with the vending machine is that it seems like a good idea,
Until 50 pounds later you’re breaking the escalator and your wallet’s sayin, “It was nice getting to know you, but see ya!”
My trouble with the vending machine is that it’s actually a lot like life.
It begins with a simple pleasure until we’re as dull as a butter knife.
Small time game, nothing serious, I’ll only do it this once…
But then once turns to twice, twice turns to thrice, and it’s little too late till your done.
So stay away from that vending machine unless you’re up for a rude awakening,
Because vending machines are the yous and mes, lost and wanderlessly aiming.
Run down the path straight to success, stay wise and dear and strong. Hold on tight, listen to me! And I promise the journey won’t be long.
Oh vending machine.