Thin Ice

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I watch two girls on wheels. 
Four neon-green wheels 
on each foot. Rollers 

in the shape of a blade, 
they schuss and stall, 
and hesitate, and slalom; 

Stutter down the easy dry slope
of driveway concrete 
fresh poured last summer. 

On the hour, the radio reports
sixteen degrees and falling 
in a steep chill-factor wind. 

But the hurly-burly ballet 
continues undimmed in Lycra-
bright enthusiasm. 

They skate with the grace 
of those unhobbled by concern
over false starts and faux pas. 

With no signs posted 
to advise skaters 
of their own fragility, 

or caution them that their egos
may one day give way 
with only an ominous crack 

of belated warning, 
They roll on 
with bolder and bolder strokes.