parking violation

the meter maid.
blue shirted,
fat and short
like a blueberry,
wrapped
in belts
and whistles,
phones, and what
not,
stands round
in the street,
her big metal
ticket pad in hand.
she is the hand
of god. no mercy.
the parking god
and once the ink
hits the paper
there is no
forgiveness. she
shakes her head
like a kewpie doll
and says,
sorry, but
the meter is empty,
then rips
off the ticket
to stick under your
wiper
before moving on
to the next violation.