Conversing With A Vending Machine

We haven't spoken for
a while,
I see you haven't changed much.
You with your cloying carbohydrates
dangling
in pernicious wrappings
like chocolate kisses
whispering
sweet nothings
to palates
too smitten
to walk away.

You woo everyone,
don't you,
with fleeting pleasure.

The hungry, the thirsty,
the anxious, and the bored,
promising fulfillment,
contentment,
even
merciful friendship.

But we both know
you stand a bit
taller,
don't you,
when they bow down
to your dishonorable
enticements.

Someone should pull your
dirty, little plug,
hang a
"Danger - Highly Toxic" sign
on your greasy, sly face
with a petition that screams,

"Gimme back my life, ya filthy animal!"