Her camel Tims hit a slick
Of black ice
Pan-caked to the curb
By February's fickle frost

She slipped
But didn't fall....

Gathering her cool interrupted
And all,
She pointed a manicured finger skywards,
Fixed her wig
And resumed her shuffling jig
To Van Siclen,
Evading winter's treachery...

With an assist
From her guardian angel
Dancing on a cloud over Brownsville.

~ Pablo (2/17/14)
(#IDIB)