This Poem Ate It All

The girls’ trucker hats ate their heads
as the girls ate frappuccinos.
The boys’ minds ate the girls
as boys’ eyelids ate their eyes.
Foundation ate the girls’ faces
as their cracks ate their thongs.
School ate the summer,
cars ate the silence,
city ate the forest,
last ate the first,
blind ate the date,
seven ate nine,
hours ate days,
weeks ate months,
work ate life,
and work shat money.

The store ate money
as the boss ate the employees.
The rich ate the poor
as drugs ate their dreams.
Prisons ate the problems,
the problems ate their last meal.

The snow ate November 
as the box ate the ballot.
Fate ate the candidate.

The bedcovers ate the lovers,
their grunts ate the sleep of the neighbors.
The roommate ate the leftovers
as the refrigerator ate the electricity.
The bills ate the wages,
as the landlord ate the paychecks.

As the poem ate it all,
the girls’ eyes ate the boys.
The napkin ate the digits,
the telephone ate the conversation,

and somewhere, the snake continued to eat its tail.