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The Spot

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Thursdays, too, she would see to it that I don’t get my parking spot
and when several others are open, still she insists on walking farther in the cold
then with a bitterness that only a spot-less young man could know
from parking there many weeks prior,
new spots become options, things considered unthinkable before

I’d pull up and see a red Nissan Versa, empty, sitting
Unannounced, and uninvited
And slowly I would move back a row, discouraged and disheartened,
Feeling the harsh wrath of defeat

Pretending not to care, I keep a straight face when I see her
who had made me walk farther to the senior doors
and was insistent on unreasonable claims.
What does she know? What did she know
about stealing the spot?





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