The cars on my street were spray-painted white
by that famous vandal, Jack Frost. The hungover sun
offers no warmth. I should remove the crystalline dew
from my windshield but I must’ve walked widdershins
around the bar— lost my scraper and glove.
This credit card won’t be doing me any more good,
so I could see how it fares against the ice
but I don’t have anywhere important to go today.
Maybe it’ll melt tomorrow.