by Ian Watts
A lot of my adult decisions are based on convenient parking.
Looking for an apartment where I can get residential parking.
Red line to brown to the 73 so as not to worry about parking.
Get to work early to snatch that premier parking,
or snoozing through nine again (we have a garage for parking).
Come on by – ten bucks for the city clerk, now all my friends get parking.
Concentric circles around the venue, coiled to pounce at empty curb –
How far is too far,
How late is too late to be
for free parking?
And where to park the tasks, then and now undone, in need of doing later?
Where to park the anxious, back-brain voice that frets its doing (not too far, or else forget)?
Where to park regret – that charter bus that ferried, full, the faces, places, ghost of long-gone plans that traveled all this way just to be here with you tonight?
Where to park love and want while they’re up on blocks, while you put off repairs, while you kick the tires and pick at the rust and say, “Just not safe to drive right now, maybe later?”
Where to park
the witty thing (the wiser thing)
the sweeter thing (the kinder thing)
you could have said
instead?
Where to park it all so you can go inside and get some sleep?
A lot of my adult decisions are based on convenient parking.
Safe parking.
Reliable parking.
Well-lit parking.
Overnight parking.
Write Then & There 