Parallel Parking

Such an elegant skill,
Rarely needed, rarely
Mastered, often taught.

Your child practices
With old traffic cones
On an empty road,

In bison country,
High in a meadow,
The last place parking

Will ever be scarce.
When she nails it once,
Smoothly between cones,

Not over the edge,
Not stuck in between,
You both celebrate

And call it a day
And she gets to roll
Down the empty road,

Like she’s a driver,
A real driver, and
She owns the pavement.