tagNon-Erotic PoetryRemembering a 7-Eleven I once visit

Remembering a 7-Eleven I once visit


I had nearly forgotten this place,
remembering that the TV of my head needs more coinage.
The pictures used to whistle with static but clearer
glimpses have come through lately, mostly at night:
blue slurpees coned like dunce caps, the smell
of cream cheese and spring onion taquitos
concussing my tongue. Lizard skin cracks on the outside
wall. And the generator substation nearby, towering
over the asphalt beauty of Las Vegas. Like one of the gods
fêted on The Strip.

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