Display Poem

I don't have a car now, but I did many years ago, and was once told to park my car "on my side of the street". If I had a car now, I would find it difficult to park it in my own street! There is a lot of feeling in this poem which mostly wrote itself.

When I got home today I saw these little white lines.
Lines in the road, white lines of paint all the way down.
That's not unusual you say, they're all over town.
Most roads have white lines that mark out the lanes.
Well yes they do, but these lines are towards the sides.
These lines are marking out where to park your car.
Pointing it out, and lining you up, right at the edge of the road.
The same place that people have been parking for all this time.
The same cars outside the same houses, parked by the same people.
The same spot the guy's been in since he moved down.
But now, there are these little white lines to show the way.

Little white lines I only noticed today.
Little white lines that are here to stay.
Little white lines mark the road in the dark.
Little white lines make it easy to park.

Maybe then, there will be a parking scheme.
Maybe one day, the lines will turn green.
There might be a byelaw that says we can't cross
The little white lines without signalling first.
Or maybe one day they'll paint in our name
And a list of the people that might visit our home.
Maybe one day I might have a space
Outside of my house that I could use myself.
Maybe one day I might buy a car
And then I'll discover what the white lines are for.
Or maybe I won't and they'll send me to jail
For parking with a wheel not level and straight
Opening my door on the wrong side of the street
Stepping on the road with the wrong kind of feet.

Little white lines that were marked out with pride.
Little white lines that say park on this side.
Little white lines for which I never agreed.
Little white lines that seem surplus to need.

Where will it end, this car-centric trend?
I'll stick to my bike, I can park where I like.
Or maybe I can't, as there's nowhere to lock it.
There's never a bike rack in front of the shop.
There's never a fence that's sturdy enough.
And I can't leave it showing outside of the pub
For the procession of drivers hacked off with the lines
That they've painted outside so they don't block the road
To kick in the wheel and knacker the tyre
So now I must push it on back to mine, and cross the line.
Those little white lines were the start of it all.

Those little white lines - take them all back.
Those little white lines - I'll paint them in black.
Those little white lines - are such a menace to me.
Those little white lines - are an absurdity.