Mr. Diagonal-Park — 1.5 Spaces, the Tesla, the Note

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Oh, little scrap of paper, tucked under the wiper of that silver Tesla,
parked at a slant in the lot behind the Aldi on Elm Street,
March 14th, 2023, 9:47 AM, when the morning rush had just thinned.
You were written in blue Bic ink, hasty loops,
"really??" with two question marks, like a sigh made sharp.
Pressed there by a hand that paused, maybe trembled a bit,
before walking away to their own Hyundai, squeezed two spots over.

[Chorus]
You stayed, didn't you, through the afternoon drizzle,
ink blurring at the edges but holding your shape,
while he, Mr. Diagonal-Park, name's Elliot according to the license plate,
came back at 5:12 PM, coffee from Starbucks in hand,
saw you flapping in the wind, and left you there.
Didn't crumple, didn't read, just drove off,
claiming those 1.5 spaces again tomorrow.

[Verse 2]
I imagine your writer, Sarah from accounting, perhaps,
or the old man with the cane, Mr. Jenkins from down the block,
scribbling you in the shadow of that overwide park job,
the Tesla's nose edging into space 47, tail in 48.
You were their quiet protest, folded once,
slipped where the rubber meets glass,
a message meant to prick, to make him shift.
But he didn't, left you to weather the night.

[Bridge]
Dear note, you were born from that momentary boil,
the way his wheels crossed the yellow line at an angle,
45 degrees of entitlement, Model Y gleaming under lot lights.
If only he'd seen you, really seen you,
moved the car six inches left, but no.
You lingered, a testament, until the wind took you at dawn.

[Verse 3]
By 7:32 AM next day, you were gone,
but the space remembered, the asphalt scarred faintly,
and Elliot parked the same, ignoring the echo.
Your two marks, "??", a question unanswered,
like so many small disregards in this lot,
this town, this year.

[Outro]
Really?? Really.