windy punch,
the ache of morning,
tired traffic,
and inconsistent coffee,
stern faces chew cash crunch sandwiches,
and hustle through mazes of parking lines,
ticket and receipt,
receipt and ticket,
"is there joy somewhere throughout this thicket?"
attendant looks at me over his glasses while handing me back cash,
"I don't know about that but I do know that it's five bucks more if you don't leave your ticket on the dash."
4 comments:
Alas, sometimes a ticket on the dash can still cost you more cash.
The dialogue integrated into this poem is just awesome. I'm going to have to try that sometime.
You really have a way of painting urban pictures; I love the grit that comes with your writing.
The only cash I love is Johnny; but that is what a lot of interactions break down too: cash for the stash.
Ticket on the dash! Like a rash on my a$$. Good post on the daily humiliation and frustration of life.
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