I could crack the air in half
if I could grab hold of it –
a smooth line at the break,
each piece a seamless fit.
The ice on the hard ground
used to be a softer snow,
but now it’s bitter, angry,
absent of its white, original glow.
The rage expands in the black
spreading across everything each night –
grass, rocks, dirt and pavement –
waiting for its prey in an unfair fight.
A sliver moon peeks through the thick, grey fog
as the car slowly approaches the bend in the street –
the brakes illusory as if painted.
It starts to spin where the tires and shiny black meet.
Sharp rocks to the left,
a steep cliff into the abyss on the right,
the front becomes the reverse.
All they see is darkness illuminated in their lights.
Screams break the murky quiet
as the first tire catches the edge
and the car grips the wind
until plastic and metal combine in permanent marriage.
Inklings of light break through the clouds.
The ice starts to melt as it catches sight of the sun.
Streaks shine down on the street and twisted metal below.
The day has started – but the ice has won.