I Had 3 Quarters

Oh how I longed for reprieve, no wait.

Yet, here I stand with mouth agape.

I blink, I blink, I cannot think.

Although I have money, I can’t purchase my drink.

 

I feel angry, especially annoyed.

This is no R2-D2 droid.

This is a broken contraption circa ’85.

A vending machine that is hardly alive.

 

I once had expectations high.

I believed, when the pocket change caught my eye.

Now the sign taunts me, tells me to seek fountain H20.

“Out of Order,” it laughs; I kick the machine and go.


A poem for National Poetry Writing Month (#NaPoWriMo).  The prompt?  “Write about your feelings when there is an out of order sign on a vending machine.”

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