Non-Erotic PoetryParkingHe was like a quick ticket
spit out from a garage
something with a function
to touch, then pass away.
The gate swung up so easy
and perhaps that was the problem;
If I declared a problem
I think that’s what I’d say.
But right now I’ll be silent
while the mechanism’s churning.
We still might meet to park
if we share a desperate day.
I’m sure I’ll open promptly
and point him round my pillars,
spit him out in passing,
then on impulse, make him pay.
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