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Blind MAG
Blind
"Where's the damn car?"
He asked the short woman with
Fingerprint-smudged eyeglasses
Holding his callous hand
Scanning the ocean of reds
And blues and blacks and cars
And trucks and mini-vans all empty,
On a clear and humid May
Day, outside the air-conditioned mall.
Hub-caps, dents,
Out-of-state
Plates, bumper stickers, and stuff
Strewn across the back seats.
They laughed,
Up and down the rows of cars
Because neither remembered
Nor noticed
When they had parked.
by M. P., Merrimack, NH
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