Small town termite

Wears her sadness like a trophy

Weathered lines of disregard and suffering

Empty out your pain for all to see

Seek pity from your neighbor

But his lines wear deeper than yours

Competitive sadness is the race of your race

Empty bottles and hearts

No more promises to break

Fill your cart at the big box

With those things you could never escape

Orange flakes of fake cheese dust

Scatter across the floor

And the hand dives back in for more

Broken rubber wheels shimmy and shake

The early death rattle

Blue light special is just an aisle away