No Longer A Game Poem by Micron Jan

Snow lies, hiding ice below,
The street a trap we think we know.

Cars slide past in nervous grace,
Tires forgetting how to face.

My steps slip sideways, thin and slow,
Each one asks how far to go.

I stumble—grab the lamppost tight,
Cold steel keeps me standing upright.

Once we fell and laughed it through,
Bruised knees felt like nothing new.

Now what was fun beneath the snow
Is fear I didn't used to know.