Smoking a cigar in his ’66 Chevy,
stubborn as a Bible. At eighty-five years
tried to throw what remained of that cigar out
the window without ever rolling it down.
The fire his act ignited found its way
to the back of his head and demanded to be withstood
for minutes before he opened the car door
and like a zombie got out and stumbled to some forward
space split through distance across its silver years.
I’d like to think he found the River Styx
and, preacherless, baptized himself
to quench the hell that crowned him.
Amy Lynne Holt received her Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing from the University of California in Riverside. She is currently finishing a chapbook about the landscape and culture of West Texas where her family is from.