4.4 Watermelon Sour Patch

It’s a stale room.
Bullets on a countertop.
Thick glass and blinking lights.
A green and pink bag sticks out,
Levity in a serious place.
I call him on it.
The best kind, he says,
The only kind I eat.
Can I have one?
Sure.
Under the stares of the men in stars
I pop a sugar-dusted gummy.
Haven’t had candy in days and
It makes a difference.
Damn fine sour patch, I say,
But I like the bite of the regular.
Fire burning on the camera,
Far off from the room.
He laughs, this young man.
More for me, as he flips a switch.
Duty in his motion.
Treats for a good boy.