Parking Space Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Cigarette butts on the ground.
Someone has been smoking here.
Tribes of neighbours chuckling in disharmony,
aware only of conformity.
We echo adjectives at one another.
Flash teeth in empty smiles.
Hug in vowels of grass stained hands,
........................and so we talk.
As we do, we keep opinions vocal.
We forget and we remember.
Tossing anger at snake-skin purses,
..........we become moronic flies on the wall.
With no intelligence, we form solutions.
Create holes to close our doors.
Open the window.
But wait,
.............the plexiglass has been broken.
We are not permitted to wear our own clothes.

I used to marvel at the tones of
.....................empty everyone embraced.
Alas, it was a useless exercise of stupidity.
Every abandoned parking space
............................is my definition.