In a concrete lot near Sturgeon Creek

under a heavy rain, he closes his eyes

and waits for the dashboard cigarette

lighter to pop. The girl he thinks

he loves has taken his seven dollars

into this strip mall pharmacy 90 miles

north of St. Cloud. She’s left the heat

on high for him, and the voice of God


punching through his eyelids and down

his spine. A woman preaches the weather

on AM: “Rain? Just you wait. The Foot

of the Almighty come down in Green Bay

and send waves mile-high into heaven.

Then you see rain.” He sees it. He’s

sinking, now just half a man, now a small

hand holding a match above rising water.



Originally published in The Yale Review