Parking Lot Ballads

What a voice! The tender
innocence (or is it ignorance?)
that caresses the moonlit
fire in the parking lot.
Generic OMG’s and totally’s
while trying to fit in with a
generic crowd of small brains,
big egos and testosterone.


Guitars and Dalmatians playing
to uninterested wheels under
the supermarket lights; there is no
audience but I.
Not the best, but better than
he’s placed. I guess this is the way it
goes: money and geography
determining wealth and worth.

© Blake Leitch November 9, 2012

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