Delightful weather summoned me outside
again, though I’d acquired what I’d need
for now, tonight, tomorrow. I could bide
within, but sun and wafting breeze decreed
that I inhale the local air and tread
upon the cracked concrete. I thought I’d buy
pistachios, or maybe macs instead:
I’d see which nutmeat sooner caught my eye.

But I was struck before I got that far,
by parking in perspective seldom seen.
One corner to the next, car after car
a compact, nose to butt, no air between,
the block was that remarkable and neat:
a chain of pop-bead cars adorned its street.