to the indignant old man in the Starbucks parking lot this afternoon

I watch through the window
as you rush to the aid of your shiny red Beamer,
a wad of scratchy brown napkins in one hand,
your cane in the other.
You circle the car, dabbing vigorously
at the pearls of bird droppings
dotting the candy-apple paint,
pausing every few seconds to glare up
into the branches of the tree above you.

I half expect you to shake your first
like an angry cartoon character,
begin calling down curses on those pesky birds.
You dispose of the napkins,
get into your car,
move it over two parking spaces.

I laugh as I watch this scene play out,
remembering how
when I got my new car last year,
I washed it three times the first week,
frustrated by the fresh stains
I found every morning.

Maybe you’re an old fool,
or I’m just lazy,
but I wash my car once a month now.
There will always be more shit.