Splitting my mind, winter cold blows,
From an open car window, not by choice.
A flavorless ice cream shoved up my nose,
I feel the scarf beside, laugh at me by choice.

Had saw the toll waiting, timed it right,
Cranked it down fast, maybe too fast.
No screen door, just ice flying in light,
No filter, a hit of brain freeze not to pass.

Exact change, exactly how, to extract,
Then thrown to captivate a handless shoot,
The passage you must pay, it’s a contract,
While they laugh from a much colder shoot.

©2007, Ron Globe