Valet for No One

The meter’s red eye keeps blinking.

You said two minutes, but the street

is already four quarters deep.

I am sitting in the passenger seat

holding your lukewarm latte

like it’s a sacred thing.

The upholstery smells like

old French fries and humidity.

I should leave, but I just

sit here, watching the pedestrians,

too stupid to stop being

the one who waits.