Sad this stick

He is sad and crying so, weeping and drinking a beer. His heart aches and the liquids flow, there with a jar to catch the tear. He pours these tears upon a tarp, under the sun so high. And it evaporates leaving behind, white salt of grain so fine. With a funnel he fills the shakers full, turning their caps tight. His aching heart feels as null, but he makes it through the night. Next day at work he dons his cap, and stands as cashier man. The people buy his fries, salt them up, and fall into his plan. So tasty, so delicious, they weep to themselves, as they stuff their faces full. And the man behind his counter, no longer feels as null.


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