Not that I ever mastered perfect parking,
much less parallel, although living in a city

all these years, I have gotten better. But I
find myself deeply annoyed one dark night

by the yellow flap of paper-that-is-not-a-ticket
waiting under my windshield wiper,

bearing a handwritten warning:
A vehicle may not be parked over a white line.

No, of course not, though mine is the only
car in this section of the condo complex lot,

a spot I frequently occupy, where the white
lines are so faint, especially at night, that

I cannot see them, though Mr. Security Guy
can. I have been known to get out of the car,

look for the lines, get back in the car, readjust.
I consider myself a courteous parker,

but this little yellow record of my “first offense”
hoists my hackles, bruises my feelings.

As the song says, They just keep movin’ the line.
So much shifting, all the lines becoming

more vague, increasingly wobbly, as we do,
until I fear becoming an old lady driver

who younger ones swear at. Maybe,
it occurs to me, I already am.

Driving home, the reprimand glaring
at me from the passenger seat, I find

myself behind a driver going 20 mph
in a 30 mph zone. I feel my misplaced

annoyance begin to rise as the little yellow
non-ticket catches the gleam of a street light,

until that unnamable something comes
over me, unseen hands pressing

my shoulders back where they belong,
swelling my belly with breath,

and my foot eases off the gas with
an exhale, a letting go, a settling,

finally slowing into the speed I am
apparently meant to be going.

•••

Listen to “They Just Keep Movin’ the Line,” sung by Megan Hilty
in the TV series “Smash.”