There was a moment when
you could buy a small brown bag full
of candy and junk food
from the corner store for 0.29 cents.
For a week you’d eat yourself into a high,
of every colour made by man.
From tart to sweet, salty to chocolaty,
then still have chewy for the weekend.
For 0.29 cents, it was heaven in a brown bag.
The days were longer then.
The sun hotter, higher, thicker.
The sugar exotic when chilled on ice.
And you were the spinner of your own fate.
For 0.29 cents, you were the world.
Today I hold my credit card statement.
I’ve been charged 0.29 cents for purchase insurance;
security against a future calamity.
How suspect 0.29 cents has become.
Its innocents devoured by fear and responsibility.
I rescinded my plan and demanded a refund.
2017 © Digestible Ink
Image: Wiki Commons