Basement Parking

I drive a 1990 brown Toyota Liteace van,
a diesel-powered turbo engine,
veteran machine of many close encounters,
scarred yet unrelenting in the road,
gliding through ample spaces
with the swiftness of a basketball player
breaking through tough defenses,
now seeking shelter in an empty lot

away from the scorching heat of the sun,
an inn for machines for a small fee,
as it descends into the bowels of the earth,
like a search engine exploring
all words, their spaces in between,
manually navigating across a neat file
of assorted automobiles,
quiet in their rows

like students half-asleep in their seats
in an early afternoon class,
confident of finding its niche,
just like this heart looking
for a slot in yours.