Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘Free Parking’ and other poems by Paul Smith

By: Paul Smith

Free Parking

Is there any chance
could it be
that all our problems could be solved
by parking for free
or maybe just a lot with a modest fee?
Imagine this
connect the dots
our globe connected by parking lots
we could do away with tariffs
border protection
the whole schmeer
we could circumnavigate our sphere
and step out of our cars
wherever we want
trade barriers would fall
time wasted
looking for a ‘spot’
could be used to pay down
the national doubt
landlocked haunts like Bolivia and Chad
would not be so remote
now linked by blacktop
to their neighbors with boats
let’s get interlocked
halt the entropy of social decay
solve the debt crisis
immigration and
the global temperature rise
with parking deck structures
that go up to the skies



We’re made of it
more or less
we cross it to get
from one place to another
we bathe in it
then it carries our dirt
off of us
plus our pee and our shit
to a bigger body of it
maybe the one we crossed to get to
where we are now
where our bathtub is
in those arid places like Chad
and Egypt
we drill for it
we are intertwined with it
joined at the hip
but the lips
crave Jack Daniels
Jose Cuervo
Johnnie Walker
after that
a night of a dry throat
trips to the W.C.
where all is cast out along with
certain byproducts of the metabolism
after all that
we come back
not for Coke
not pomegranate juice
not Kool Aid
we return to the only one thing
that does not lead to more thirst


The Naiads

In lavender and pink they come
they blink their eyes
and arms outstretch
to fool you
and go back to Delirium
with their catch
beneath their wings


You Shall Dwell in the Land of Goshen

People who sing Hallelujah
have big wide eyes
wider than Willie Big Eyes Smith
lookin up
and big wide voices
that rock their steeple
and make it shake
with thunder
they wear gabardine suits
and flowered hats
bought on layaway
when they depart
and are laid away
their coffins are open
to reveal no secrets or mysteries
just someone that once crossed
many bridges
to get right here
Those who sing Alleluia
have eyes downcast
to watch where they genuflect
to mourn and maybe reflect
on a faith passed down
a stubborn faith with constancy
that will not budge
with voices that sometimes
quake with fear
they congregate here
when their numbers let out
and spill upon the street
see the other ones
across this thoroughfare
wide as Jordan
they do not greet each other
or cross that street
but just wave
and vow to meet one day
on their side of
that faraway shore

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