7-11

under the flourescent light
of the convienence store cathedral
i worship the alabaster skin
of the whitetrash boys
stealing 40 oz.

of amber rebellion
into downy recesses
of oversized parkas.

the man behind the counter
knows my order:
                      2 packs KOOLS
                      18 cans budweiser
               and $20 cash back
to pack my pipe with candy rock
that can only be bought
from my neighborhood rockstar
summoned on pac bell payphones.

"i wouldn't kick you outta bed"
the man tells me from behind
the pulpit of formica counter
with his barry white dulcet tones.
but i know he's married
and in his early fifties
with a baby on the way
to be brought up
on 7-ll salaries,
supplemented by whatever work
it is i see him go to
on the 72 bus every morning.

i wait outside
on the hood of the cherry ride
i can't make payments on,
waiting to cop
from a man i don't recognize
in daylight.