Artificial Flavoring

Two in the morning at the bright pumps,

I bought the red and black bag for the road.

I remember when this was the height of luxury,

a sticky, twisted prize for a long day's work.

Now it tastes like wax and chemical dyes,

a waxy resistance against my molars.

I chew it anyway, out of a grim habit,

feeling the black sugar coat my throat.

When I look in the rearview mirror,

my tongue is stained a dark, bruised violet.

It’s not a treat anymore, just a way

to keep my jaw moving so I don't fall asleep.