At the pound I waited a half hour in line and then had to hike a long ways to find my burnt-out car

The city pound smells like
burnt rubber dust creeping rot
That may be human

Gasoline wafts through
Walk careful on dirt and glass
There are miles of cars

It is nine blocks long
Many of the cars are torched
Lots of Corrolas

They parked mine in back
I searched forty-five minutes
Before I found it

The lock was melted
So I could not get in trunk
But I tried, ah well

Took off the license
Plate so no one would use it
To park in my name

Today the city
Sent me an overdue note
On unpaid tickets

The cops were all rude
And now I think that Nelson
Algren was correct.