South Frontenac

South Frontenac’s muggy nights in June are thick
with sex and death; on Highway 38
teenagers race the black future
beyond their cars’ twin antennae of light

where frog-dotted asphalt slices the marsh
and the dark pulses with ephemerae
whose day this is to fly and mate and die;
exoskeletons tick against the glass

that curves to shield these children covertly
glancing by dash light at faces, bodies
who never again will feel so much as now
and we cooler at heart

half-remembering, dream them safe to bed.
Sunday morning in the wrecker’s yard
a chipping sparrow picks bugs off the grill
of a Dodge Ram 1500 truck.

August 1, 2008