Living In The Parking Lot Poem by James McLain

Under the green,
well packaged oak
a family of four walk through.
Unnoticed am I, by most, except
by they whom check late at night
too make sure that I still am.
Lighting a Cigarette) French
being humid this summer it is Florida(
She stops, they walking on in bright yellow
ajusting one snug cup, of life, forever it briefly shows.
Pushing the stroller, pausing the father spits.
Tow headed the girl, head bobbing
lost in the heat.
The boy sweaty and healthy, pants held up
by one hand,
energy drink in the other.
Fading in and out of sight, she briefly draws out
preproportioned it is more or less as the other.
Not seeing her face, is her sister.
Living in a parking lot, I watch the sea of life drift by.