off the street

eleven o’clock at night
and it’s time to move the car off the street
’cause tomorrow’s sweeping day
when the big truck comes
to vacuum along the sidewalk
followed by a parking control chase vehicle
that gives tickets to guys like me
who forget the rules
twenty-eight dollar citations written up
by uniformed women who are up at dawn
slapping flimsy slips of paper on windshields
making ’em stick to the dewy glass
like toilet paper
like face cream on fucking toilet paper
that either plug up the commode
or sit melting with the other face-creamed wads in the trash can next to the commode

with nothing to do except stare you in the face,
to remind you
that you forgot the goddamn rules
and now it’s gonna cost you
twenty-eight bucks.

time to move the car,
time to make things right
you asshole.

 

About this poem

Written around 1994, after getting my second ticket for parking during no-no hours. Parking fees, fifty-dollar roses, diamond rings, same deal. Men pay, one way or another.

Yeah, yeah, the poem is sexist. What’s it gonna cost me this time?