"Ode To Inanimate Objects"
Penned simultaneously with tentative's Ode To The Coke Machine


I could write about vending machines
Which I've never used
Or papers and magazines
Sharing students' views
But some things at uni
Made worthwhile my study

While many haunt the UniBar
I'm underground with Violence *
Then came a choice of footbridge
And missing out on tutelage
A Cancer-gas Dispenser
And barbecue cash reg'ster
CA's broked marquee
CS Club's esky
Too many things to list I'm sure
Like some things seen from certain floor
Then where they held talks of grace divine
And oh so many things to climb

To all those hunks of plastic, concrete and steel
If tomorrow I am gone
I will forget you not
You'll always keep a special place
Here inside my heart

Oh coke machine

I need a drop of blood

From your wretched workings

Burnt from wretched mud

 

 

From some wretched mud

You sucked up precious water

You made my drop of blood

And some toxic slaughter

 

 

You dumped the toxic waste

On crops that needed water

You said it would do them good

It just made some more slaughter

 

 

Somewhere to the west of there

The Paracos did fly

Looking out for Unnies

That they wanted to die

 

 

With your drop of blood

You pointed them in the direction to

They had a little massacre

I’m sure they thanked you

 

 

So there you go coke machine

Now I want my blood

Since you own nearly everything

The next best thing is mud.

 

(If this hasn’t made any sense (which is likely) please study Coca-Cola controversies and it will eventually.)

We exchanged sultry stares
Hands guiding pocket change into slots
Your fingers were so deft, graceful, firm
Touching all the right surfaces
Stroking those gleaming pliant buttons

Reaching down to grasp that bottle
You turned a simple movement
Into something so gratuitous
It was like I'd run a couple miles
And then stepped into your sauna

Of course you were aware of your consequences
You insisted "up against the automat"
Of course I'd oblige you
Couldn't do much else besides take you in
Like a long
tall
drink.


How you taunted me on that fall evening of yore
When the rum was still plentiful but trimmings ran dry
We saw you at the station at a quarter 'til four
We pulled up and stopped just two meters shy

Oh, your lovely front door with the display of choices
For our aperitif pleasure (more rum in the trunk)
The radio blared the loud pop sixties' voices
I in the back seat was Cooter Brown drunk

I fell out the car door and put in required change
(Some might remember the machine's vertical door)
I chose Sprite as a mixer; locked it in at close range
Opened the portal and gave pull like a chore

The coke machine faced me, the car at my back
Something was going quite literally wrong
It started to tilt then it rocked with a crack
The radio changed to a Rolling Stones song

No escape possible; I stood fast my ground
As the massive machine tilted towards me so slow
My friends did laugh heartily assuming they'd found
The best entertainment; a live torture show

But when the heavy beast fell upon me in full
And my life was saved only by it hitting the car
And I was trapped under, just a foot from my cull
That's when they realized just where they were

The cops would be beckoned; the scene was too hot
They manned their positions and lifted the beast
If the station was open, we'd all have been shot
But God looks out for the whores and the thieves

My biggest complaint on the morning thereafter
Was a loud aching back and the need for a drink
I remained highly pissed by the sound of their laughter
But being raped by a Coke machine sure makes you think

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