The whirl through traffic lights and stop signs
Catch signs under car carriages, flit from bumper to bumber
Emerge from cracks in black ice to dance for children straped into booster seats
Safety buckles squealing as little hands grasp for glass
They blind the eyes of business men coming home from pushing and pulling
Screeching and slamming
In their frosty hands the plait the hair of homeless men and push pigeons from their flight paths
They are crepuscular, only appearing when the sun is still angled through pines
They tan on turning signals, lounge across headlights, spread their skirts over hoods and exhaust pipes
They taunt caution lights, tickle emergency breaks, becon squeaks and sometimes sirens
The snow ghosts of Route 7 tar don't care
Free do dance across the lanes
Catch signs under car carriages, flit from bumper to bumber
Emerge from cracks in black ice to dance for children straped into booster seats
Safety buckles squealing as little hands grasp for glass
They blind the eyes of business men coming home from pushing and pulling
Screeching and slamming
In their frosty hands the plait the hair of homeless men and push pigeons from their flight paths
They are crepuscular, only appearing when the sun is still angled through pines
They tan on turning signals, lounge across headlights, spread their skirts over hoods and exhaust pipes
They taunt caution lights, tickle emergency breaks, becon squeaks and sometimes sirens
The snow ghosts of Route 7 tar don't care
Free do dance across the lanes
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