The Layby

Every day you lower the bar
You’ve a garage, a driveway, and only one car

Yet every day you’re in my layby
How are you selfish? I’m so mad I could cry

There’s so many machines, and so few spaces
All on a first come, first served basis

But because you insist on the whole bay
I have to park a neighbourhood away

Now I’m not unreasonable, and I’d understand
If there were a reason you needed so much land

But the garage never opens
And the driveway vacancy never ends

So what’s the deal? Do you hate me, too?
Does my woebegone Honda so offend you?

Or is it me? Am I in the wrong?
Wanting to park in sight of my house, and not walk for as long

No, it’s you. You’ve really gotta stop.
Why? Because. You’re. In. My. Spot.