CENTRAL PARKING
I haven’t moved my ’80 Ford
In twenty-seven years,
For giving up a legal spot
Would fill my life with fears.
It sits in peace while all about
The cars of others scramble
In search of any harbor that
Will end an all-day ramble.
Can’t even consider another place
For this my blessed car–
The very suggestion in New York
Would never travel far.
And that is why my new-drawn will
Omits the usual rot
And leaves the kids my true estate,
The permanent parking spot.