Black Ice Commuter

Just about the standard amount of discord
for an evening out at a restaurant in celebration
of the middle kid's twelfth birthday.

It ends in disappointment,
but it's low grade, manageable,
the wear and tear of the everyday.

The youngest is wrestling with
a helium balloon on a string he's
had for about ten minutes.

The balloon wrests free, bolts and
comes to rest two stories up
in one of the bookstore's overhead lights.

It's raining tonight, just below freezing,
black ice is already forming- a phenomenon
in which danger masquerades as harmless wet asphalt.

Someone follows me most of the way home
down the uncertain back roads
high headlights irritating in the rear view.

The radio, back and forth between two stations,
dry jazz or dry classical, both serving only to provoke.
Tonight, all life is disappointed.