New reservoir(Golden Age)

We have to reach between the things
that we’re addicted to like couch cushions
wrapped around some quarters you’d been
saving in your pocket.
There aren’t many choices
in that vending machine, but in spite
of everything that soda you hear tumble
through the mechanism finds you
unafraid to see your options.
Imagine the textures of mountainsides
when looking past the pastel
at the picture you were gifted
as a joke of sorts with no one
really laughing.
Hospital campuses spread further
across the city scraping most
towers off the edges
of the cinder blocks we built them on
so long ago with so much room to grow.
A new reservoir is placed in every
engine so that those who can’t afford
to make repairs can dip their hands
inside and offer up their souls.
It only takes a little bit to set things right
and get back on the road again,
but next time when the wheels won’t spin
a part of you remains within the metal.
As if these places between places
once we’re special in some golden
age when everything was wrapped in chrome
and everyone could somehow make it home.

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