Caught between garbage cans,
my mother learned to parallel park.
Back and forth,
the clash of metal on metal
under my father’s glare.

Her life was as tightly prescribed
by my father and his parents,
as the car by the cans.
Stepping beyond bounds
was not sanctioned.

Easier to escape metal
than to impress herself on my father.
The resilience of garbage cans
may have soothed my mother
as she battled the family car.