Man in a Parking Structure
1 min readNov 13, 2019
He chirps his black SUV, strolls beside
a woman scraping through her purse.
Sun and years have tanned his skin to creased leather.
His hand has risen to his mouth, leaking
thin grey smoke that curls a vapid trail
behind him. I’ve not breathed that smell in years.
I’ve not sat in that dirty van, not listened
to that now dead voice; I’ve not been young in years.
His hand releases and swings syncopated
to his gait, as a rainless cloud shrouds his head.
I walk in back of dull echoes off concrete
from footsteps and the woman cussing.
His dependable satisfaction diffuses,
taking yet another short length off his sigh.
