the monolith beckoned, as if it were a full moon
glowing under solitary streetlamp, in green light
surrounded by looming tanks of fuel oil; a hole punctured through creamy darkness
high on an iron-grate alter, to be approached head-on via metal stairs
while watching late night movies “Soylent green is made of people.”
when a boy’s mind is full of girls, football, and comic books
before adult onset of self induced stress and worry
we hatched our plan — my friend and i; during a sleepover at his house
we determined to worship the monolith, by partaking of the sacrament
enveloped in the warmth of summer’s night; long after midnight
we venture out across the field, with bottle opener and plastic cups in hand
sneakers crunch; dried grass nicking brown legs exposed by cut-off jeans
radiant light destination, a beacon at the end of our tunnel vision
low clang of metal sound under feet, as we trudge along the walkway
moving into eerie glow of the streetlamp, we are exposed in the spotlight
arriving in the presence of our god — the nectar is now within reach
there they are! like jewels aligned in a column of cold — behind the tall, narrow glass door
bottles resting on their sides, requiring coinage to release them from the machine
held steady in place by metallic grip, we emptied their contents
while one held open the door, the other went to work popping off tops
cola and grape nehi gushing forth as if from a garden hose
and we greedily held out our cups, to receive the liquid candy
gulping down with sticky hands and t-shirts; in gluttony
time before video surveillance cameras existed on every corner
never to appear on youtube; drinking deep and topping-off our cups
we hastily beat a retreat back under the cover of darkness
sleep would not come that night; our restless bodies lying on couches
staring into the future, long after the three tv networks had signed off the air
imagining the surprised looks on the faces of the workers, the next day
as they dropped coins into a machine full of dead soldiers