Hard Freeze

The plastic card makes a shrill scream

against the inside of the glass.

The frost comes off in curls,

shaving the cold away

so I can see the parking lot.

It’s only four and the sky is bruised.

The salt truck left a trail of grit

that turns the snow to a slushy paste,

the color of a wet sidewalk.

The heater clicks and sighs,

blowing a lukewarm breath

that doesn't reach my feet.

The ice is winning on the other side.

I can feel the glass vibrating

with the weight of the dark.