Thursday, June 11, 2009

Parking in Slow Glinty Gear

Sooo tired in heat glare and tanned heat,
squinting from darkness in the bright;
the luxury van of yesterdays's tomorrow... a suburban,
pulls into the lot where I waitressed in ice cream dreams.

Hidden from windows by the back door,
my stop obscures and blocks a young driver in white...
from his parcels of perishables deliverance.

I look away in awe and fatigue,
backing blindly  in slow retreat,
pulling up before tinted windows...
a worrisome fret... who is looking  out
and watching my maneuvers.

The exit waits and beckons...
the road is clear...
stubbornly a k-turn is fashioned
in opposite park... facing  the woods
and stream , I pull to a spot
to a workman's truck... almost perfectly.

Too close, my side mirror rests
within the flatbed of rear...
he'll never get out  if I stay here.

The slowest back-up comes crookedly,
almost a back paneled scrape
to the reddened quarter panel-
shit- watchers can see the fuck up.

White lines are no longer visible
as I inch and crawl forward
and back... not too close to his door.

The weary face looks through the wheel
that juts from a dashboard...
dammit, I'm in my spot.

Give me  the energy to go in
and scoop my ice cream sundae...
heavy on the whipped cream,
with a cherry on top.

*** I'm synthesizing.. see Wendilea speaks 07-11-09. 


  1. We dream of the past to makes sense of the future... there is plenty to share... dig in!