after midnight in May

Sheets of steel.

Sheets of steel,

tyres and glass,

plastic and fragments of

unknown atomic structures

all quietly party, out on the driveway

through the long hot summer nights.

But the temperature

lowers after midnight in May

and as each morning stirs,

the moisture in the surrounding air

gathers, swirls and 

condenses

clinging to any car

left sitting in the open.

The cold forces change,

the moisture alters,

liquid becomes solid,

white beads of ice 

coat the metal and glass.

The ice has formed a bond

and does not want a separation.

Ice clings to metal with a fiercer grip than

the local octopus.

The garage calls out

"Bring your party in here

I'll protect you from 

Jack Frost."

I hear their frantic conversation

and rescue both.

The cars, happily chat to each other,

the garage, bursting with pride and

usefulness.

And me, just pleased to have no

frost to clear tomorrow.