By John Sargent
Date: 27 October 1997

Vending Machine

Silently she lies in wait above the street
Below, silver catches the eye of a child
Stolen treasure in clenched fists, he runs upstairs
Overwealming choice unleashed behind the glass
The gate turns dropping sweetness in the pan
Rosy fingers snatch the purchaced joys from the
     Modest girl, fearless to sell parts of herself
He leaves nothing behind save a lonely shell,
     Filled only with memories of distant friends;
     Treasured by many, loved by no one but her