Tempting death with each satisfying bite. Featured photo copyrighted by the author.
Gas Station Mini-Mart Snack by Mark Tulin
---
Outside a gas station mini-mart,
a speaker blasted Beck's Loser.Â
I was hungry
after filling my tank with regular.
I could have eaten anything - 
a slab of chicken neck or a seagull wing.
I may be insanely desperate-Â
definitely not a gourmet.
All I wanted was a corndog,Â
warming inside a glass oven
on a crowded counter.
The shrieks and sighs
of unidentified meat
would make a stoner cry.
It may not be food,
but it satisfies my primal palate.
Anything tastes good
at midnight
without the daylight filters
of common sense.
When most people are asleep,
I'm free to eat junk food
that tastes like raw sewage,
praying to the God of Indigestion,
or the devil of the culinary forlorn
without any cost to my soul.Â
Can you hear the sizzle and crackle?
Can you smell the dried-up dog
rolling over the griddle
or the gas station sushi gathering moss?Â
Undercooked, overcooked, or toxic,
convenience food is a midnight treasure,
my preferred brand of processed torture.
Something undigestible,
unwholesome & radioactive.
I'm living the lie.
I'm tempting death with each bite.
I'm munching in the dark
'cause I can't bear to look.
Whatever I put in my mouth.
Whatever crappy snack I swallow,
the coroner will surely find out.
Dead on arrival - but with a satisfied smile.
© 2025 Mark Tulin
---
Crow On The Wire 
That was great!
Thank you. 🙂