Jumpstart

The rain is turning into a slushy weight

on the collar of my coat and the brim of my hat.

He’s leaning over the hood, tempting fate,

while the engine gives a hollow, clicking chat.

The cables are frayed and the terminals are black,

but he won’t admit that the cells are all dead.

I hold the plastic light, watching the track

of the yellow beam shake as the cold starts to spread.

My fingers are stiff and my boots are a lake,

but I stay in the dark for the sake of the man.

It’s a special kind of dull, heavy ache

to be the only one with a realistic plan.