New Neighbors

It was cold;
she carried out her baby
to make her introduction –
No smile, handshake, fruit cake –
“Is that your car?”
He nodded a nearly new grizzle grey
so she continued on to say,
“Don’t park it in front of our house.”

If their screen door could’ve slammed harder,
it would have, triumphant in its punctuation.

Never mind that the cars of all makes and models
have hid under the faux shelter of rusted hoop,
or that nowhere else is being backed into an impossibility;
any chance of a welcome to the neighborhood guest
was forfeited by a simple request
forced forth so commandingly.

The next evening, another neighbor,
awaiting a trailer of wood,
moved all three of their cars –
emptying out their driveway,
a Hyundai and two mini vans
peppered the new motherhomerenter’s
self-proclaimed side of the street.

And still, it seemed someone should warn her
about the high school football season situation.