Backyard Bounty in Tiny County

            In a quaint quiet town with neighborly air,
            Lived a family who won a prize oh so rare.
            A machine in their backyard, a soda stash,
            Vending cold colas with a flashy splash.
            
            Town talk, they were envied, kowtowed, praised,
            For this delightful machine had eyebrows raised.
            All flavors brim boasted, from berry to lime,
            Cool carbonated haven in searing summertime.
            
            But alas, their dishwasher busted and blue,
            No money to fix it, what could they do?
            With dishes piled high, they'd just sigh and say,
            "At least we've got colas to brighten our day."
            
            The lawnmower, too, was in disrepair,
            The grass grew tall and wild—a forest flair.
            The family knew not what was brewing,
            Attention basking in the bubbly viewing.
            
            One night, as moon hung shimmering chandelier,
            Some sneaky teens crept, ill intentions quite clear.
            To nab that prized vending machine, oh so bold,
            Stuffed sweet with fizzy treasures, crisp colas cold.
            
            The teens, undeterred, found a new sneaky trick,
            In the tall grass they hid, their whispers thick.
            They whispered of plans to steal the prize,
            Tittering in the weeds with mischief in their eyes.
            
            But the family was wise, not to be outsmarted,
            Their soda machine stood strong, unthwarted.
            Pa slept outback with a Ken Griffey bat,
            And gave those punks lips swollen puffy fat.
            
            Legend spread through the tiny neighborhood,
            Of that soda machine, the family who stood,
            With dishes unwashed but somber spirits held high,
            Above weeds, who sipped beneath sunny summer sky.