Vacant Lot

“You’re just ball-breaking” she cried
“Are you expecting four of them right now?”
Her sarcasm an essential grammatical tool

“That’s hardly relevant”, I replied,
A pot lid of contrived serenity
Barely containing a stew of fiery contempt
“These are reserved. Please move…I get complaints”
Always this addenda; the compulsion to justify

But she did move;
Screeching out of the space with the child
Eating crisps on the back seat,
Rocking like a coracle at high tide,
But still managing to skewer his face
At the man who upset Mummy

A small win, but tomorrow there’ll be yet another biped
Unwilling to lope across an extra 10 yards of asphalt

A trembling hand and battered pulse betray
The consequences of the car crash that is
Sentry authority, cock-eyed reasoning
And a desire to simply capitulate;
And yet…

It's just a thought but...
Maybe they do belong here after all...
All of them