car from
the bunker,
the chain linked high
barbed wire
pen
at six in the morning is
no fun.
putting it mildly.
stickerless
and new to this parking
garage,
how was i to know
that billy bob would be
lurking in the shadows
with his mighty rig,
numbed with
night time liquor,
waiting, like a shark,
to bite and tow.
but here i am, standing
at the bulletproof slotted
window,
staring at an aged bette davis,
in a tank full of smoke,
slipping in a credit card
to release my car
again.
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