conversation with a parking meter

i stare

at the parking meter, fumbling

for coins.

what is it this

time, a credit card,

a license plate? yes it's

you again

i say to the meters

face.

the metal

lips

gone cold.

the throat of it hungry

for gold.

i know you, i tell it.

i know

your ruthless

soul,

your skinny 

but bent steel pole.

i know i'll run out

of time

again before i leave,

before i

have to go.

i know

i'll owe the man again,

it's what you

people do.

i know.