Winter arrives in the night desert
with rain and silent sheet lightning.
The Lieutenant keeps
wiping the windshield
but the mud is on the other side.
The convoy rolls along a pocked road,
and someone sees white-bellied frogs
leaping in rain-shimmered headlights.
The Lieutenant keeps
thinking of a song by The Libertines,
What Became of the Likely Lads.
Someone says
I saw this on the Natchez Trace,
the frogs and the falling Live Oaks.
The Lieutenant keeps
three dusty carpets and his heart
rolled in a cardboard box
that he plans on sending home for the holidays.
The Lieutenant keeps wiping the windshield.
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