If you live in my town
and it snows,
you’re only allowed to park
on the odd-numbered side of the street
on odd days.
But what if you’re the kind of person
for whom every day
is an odd day?
The cops gave me a ticket today.
$35 dollars. An odd number.
It’s an even day.
So now I want to get even.
I want to go to the police station
and nail 35 copies of this poem
to their front door–
to add a little oddity,
a bit of my strange brand of beauty,
to their day.
That’ll show ’em not to mess with us oddballs.
Yeah. That’ll even up the odds.