Through the gas bar. See him
lean, Pepsi machine for a wall,
ember rising, lips waiting, cap

just so. As if he deserves
to star in this concrete scene. As if
he owns that vintage Ford, its silver-rail

bumper, body washed with wine. It crouches
in the garage: sour, enduring—
with feline airs. Would he sell

his future for a spin? Some day he may care
as little as he desires. He slouches
under youth's accusations, threatening

to pounce. The past lies mutely
along the creases of his jeans.

From Out to Dry in Cape Breton
(Signal Editions)