like a vending machine out of a blizzard,
an incandescent chrome shimmer, a delirium
in an Iowan airport at 11:40 p.m.
stocked with bagged apple slices, unsalted nuts,
with clean, small bills,
not an idling private jet
but good coffee,
and a full battery
enough to save me.
Kim Suttell writes poems of the unremunerative kind, lives in New York City, is loyal to Right Hand Pointing, and is happy to join One Sentence Poems. More at page48.weebly.com.