Parking space for a car

Looking for a car to share a motorcycle parking space.

A big motorcycle and a small car, like two shoes in the middle of a dance step.

The car must display a sign that reads: nothing of value inside.

So they smash the vehicle’s window because there’s nothing of value outside, either.

The motorcycle must be quiet, like conversation lingering around the table after a meal. The car must sit low, so it won’t tip over.

The wind may pick up, so please close the door when you leave, once you’ve finished directions.

The parking garage’s columns come in many shapes, carved by Gothic artists, sharpened to wound.

The garage columns, like the trees in a forest, remember who planted them.

The neighbour from Number 7 connected his column to the electrical grid, like someone climbing to an altar to be married.

The column ran away the next morning, leaving the neighbour kneeling in tears, far from the altar.

Then came the neighbourhood collection and the posters pasted everywhere:

Lost column. Lost reward.

The column never came back. Why would it?

Does anyone ever return

from the hills?