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.