Watching a Woman Get a Parking Ticket

I saw the man in the uniform
see the blinking meter.
I saw him put the ticket
under the wiper.
I felt bad for the man.
Who loves the guy that gives the tickets?
Little reprimands.
This guy in the dark blue shorts,
light blue short-sleeved shirt,
flourescent yellow reflective vest.
It’s a wonder that reflective vest
keeps him from getting run over
by angry, punished citizens.
She left her car there another hour.
I saw the woman return to her car,
put her purchases in her trunk.
I watched the whole episode unfold.
As I suspected, she didn’t see the ticket until she was ready to pull away.
Looking up at the unfortunate note under the wiper,
Her pursed lips were unmistakable.
I’m sure she cursed the one who put it there–
whoever he was.
Her shadowy villain who creeps around in his
blue, short clothing and ghastly yellow vest.
Like an apparition.  We never see the guy who gives us the tickets.
But somehow, he sees us in our dirty, little, secret sin.
Over-parking.
I saw him.
I’m sure the man emerges from his vampirey,
parking ticket underworld
to a lovely family and a much-appreciated paycheck.