Taxpayer subsidized at $4.8 billion a year,
it breathes a silent smoke that shatters polar ice into
tessellations and swathes bays with rotting fish,
their eyes fixed in a milky daze like the man
pumping the gas.
Giddy adolescents circle around a haul of e-cigs.
Snapchatting away their unbridled innocence,
they fawn over bubblegum hits of heavy clouds
that conceal big tobacco’s new safe haven rooted
in the unproven unsafe, unregulated.
Inside the convenience store, a child presses
her blotchy face against the floor, holding
up white-knuckled fists at the phrase “only one.”
Ruffles, Funyuns, Cheetos, Tostitos, Doritos, Fritos, Lays
she thinks there is a choice when it is only Frito-Lay.
Entering the gas station, I don’t know the name
of the tired hands that sewed my shirt, or why
a gallon costs ten cents more today, but I pull
up to the nearest pump and pay my weekly
homage to this temple of capitalism.