Works by Ben Balazs

Look at the time, I mean, Really. When you're filling up on gas And the numbers Climb and climb As the hand and it's perpendicular Arm The hour strikes, The tank is full, And you are on your way Before even realizing It was two dollars and seventy-eight For each minute.

A breath of fresh air breathing out of a pressurized can, Though mixed with defecation doesn't quite smell like "Malibu Vacation." And as flavors tend to lie, I certainly cannot deny, that Pepsi is my go-to Coca Cola. Because If it tasted as good as the marriage I see, In polymer ads broadcast on TV, I'd keep sipping that fizz and building up thirst, And betting my paycheck on which lie came first. Is the ice-cold drink that sweats from my touch, As real and fresh as that digital twin? The twin who brags just a little too much, Who washes like acid and sticks like a sin? "Woe unto me," I ought to say, "Lord spare us all," I ought to pray, But it's hard to sympathize with a customer, Who is always right.