Curb Appeal

My neighbors on this narrow street
Sure like their cars. Their set’s complete
With one for every resident
And spares for everyone who’s spent
A rowdy night beneath their roof
(Our lack of curb space is the proof).
Their pickups, SUVs and coupes
Drip oil where their puppy poops,
Which is to say, most anyplace
Except their property. No space
Is safe from their vehicular
Encroachment: If you thought you were
Entitled to a spot from which
You might could see your house, that itch
Is one you won’t be scratching soon
Or often, maybe each New Moon.
I don’t begrudge them (much) their cache
Of cars, though I do wish they’d stash
Them somewhere else, like out-of-state!
Oh, dear, that makes me sound irate.
I’ll settle, then, for off-the-block.
My doctor says that I should walk
More than I drive, though, so I guess
There’s upside to this parking mess:
I’m exercising every time
I try to drive my car, and I’m
The envy of the FitBit folk:
That default step goal’s just a joke
Compared to what I do each day
Because my car’s so far away!
But that’s not what you asked me, is it?
Sorry, no, you can’t come visit
If you’re driving. Sad but true.
Tell you what: I’ll come to you.

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