Slipping on Asphalt

The rain comes sudden, sharp and cold,

catching me flatfooted in the lot.

Cars splash puddles, reckless, bold,

while I step where slick black patches rot.

Oil stains gleam like spilled night,

a slick smear under flickering light.

The asphalt yawns, cracked and worn,

catching my foot—slip, alarmed.

Wet rubber smells of burnt regret,

a ghost of tires and dreams unmet.

The lights blink out in tired rows,

and I stand soaked where the cold wind blows.