freshly shined shoes
squeak like sweaty leather
against my thighs over
snow to a car.
Like glass breaking into pieces,
the door clatters open.
I insert the key and turn with might.
My usually nonexistent biceps
materialize as tendons flex
in my wrist, beneath the glove.
Silence ... A sputter ... A shake ...
Turn the key again ...
Grr ... grr ... roar!
Windshield wipers shriek,
spilling snow off the side.
A frozen breath whistles through the vent.
Grub ... grub ... the car idles painfully, shudders,
crying into the morning light.
I struggle to put the car into drive with a loud click
from the lever, chilled from the night.
The car sings, its voice sultry,
like a singer in a motel lounge after happy hour.
Rar ... rar ... rar ...
The lights turn off abruptly,
The trembles cease,
I hit the steering wheel in frustration,
What the heck?
I hate snow and sleet.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.