I’m standing in line

Waiting to sell my soul.

The signs says

Anything you want,

Cash or credit,

But lost souls not need apply.

As I turn my head

Conversation moves like

The whistles of a train stop.

Mouths and tongues

Smooth talk passers by,

Softly licking off

Candy buttons

Hidden between

The stripes of my shirt.

It’s a game

She says,

Opening the door.

Convince yourself

That a soul

Is worth much more.