poem of the day 03.05.13

parallel parking

i can see her

i wish i had a sign that read

no talking to me during my walk to work

a sign like that would save me

so many of these moments

but i can see her waving me down

and tchaikovsky’s 6^th is ending on my

magical music machine

it’s fading into a dissonance

that was taking me with it until this

but she’s waving me down

running across a busy street

flailing her arms as if she were on fire

what? i say when she reaches me

corners me really

and i don’t turn the tchaikovsky down

until i get that last recognizable note

can you drive? she says

in a thick russian accent

she points over to a car that is half out into the street

motor running and some terrible music infesting the block

i don’t have a license

which is a lie

i simply won’t help people who can’t help themselves

but you can still drive? she says

which means she’s willing to break the law to get what she wants

no, i tell her, moving on

having lost tchaikovsky because of this business

but gaining dvorak to compensate

can anyone drive?  i hear her shouting

anyone?

anyone please?

then i turn the music up to drown her out

i’m sure she’ll find someone, i tell myself,

some good citizen to come and parallel park her car

but in a proper world

two teenagers would be joyriding brooklyn in that rumbling thing

while she gives a stolen property statement

to a couple of cops

two jolly flatfoots

laughing so goddamned hard

that they can barely write a sentence

in that little black pad of theirs.