Long after being saved, he died.
He came to take me home from college,
flipped the Coupe de Ville into a ditch,
fractured his nose, one rib—state trooper
ticket, trip to the ER. Unharmed & bored,
I wore my listening look, nodded,
did not elaborate when he asked split-
faced about Jesus in my heart. Doctors
weren’t sure why at the end his legs
ballooned. He couldn’t walk across
the room without a cane, but sped
me in his Escalade past fields
of Indiana corn. Fluid broke the skin.
He claimed to feel no pain.