you not stop at the rest
stop
on the Jersey Turnpike
after nine
hours of driving
and get a cup
of coffee and a Cinnabon?
for twenty miles
the signs have been persuading
you in neon
letters to stop soon.
the demonic
pull of sugar
beckons you to put on
your turn
signal and park.
there's little one can
do when
this spell comes over you.
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