Parking Lot Culture

like in a womb
of my choosing
(with less judgement
and smoke than the previous),
picnicking shoeless
with a book
and my skirt hiked up for a causal air,
I look at a fractured landscape
through the windshield
-like a billowing Victorian prose
through fuzzy infant-sight.
I nod to another pod dweller
two cars over.
She’s having a burrito
and possibly an existential crisis.


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