one can groan
and squeal to the radio
while the engine revs
and the beats pile up
like small fists
rat-a-tatting on
the small of your back,

one can drum fingers
on steering wheels
and stare out the
window as someone
sits on a bench
eating from the trash,

smiling for

small favors<

one will park their car
and enter a house
that's heated
if not paid for,

angry at the world
for being there
when they woke up.

hey skipper - are ya ready for another influx of day-trippers down from Boston?

When they used to ask my friend Buster where the clams came from that we fried at his parents' clambar on the Vineyard, he would tell them the Charles River.

They looked at him kind of funny - like not sure whether to take him seriously or not.

I like this draft a lot. I might suggest that you tighten up the internal agreement (one will park their car ... when they woke up) and drop this on PoemsFray, and I'll bet it garners more fans. Really good job with the message.