the end is near

in the middle of the blizzard
your battery dies
on the side of the road.
you have no cables
and no desire
to get out and sort through
the trunk
to find any, even if you did
have an old rusted pair
passed down through
the century and never
used.
fortunately you've invested
thousands of monthly
fees into triple A for forty years.
you call them with your last
bar of charge and beg for help.
you wait.
you wait some more.
you sing the entire beatle's
catalogue, surprisingly well
too despite everything.
you lose feeling in your feet,
your arms.
your fingers begin
to tingle with warmth.
your cheeks are red. a bloom
of air exits from your shivering
body.
you take out your phone,
it's dead now too.
you find a hamburger wrapper
on the floor and a pen. first you
eat the cold white French fry
lying next to it. slowly,
you begin to write out
your last will
and testament.
my son, you write, my only son
who I love more than
almost anything,
it's all yours, live wisely,
don't do drugs
or get anyone pregnant before
you're married. don't forget
to turn the stove off when
you leave the house.
you feel dizzy, the pen
is frozen, you touch the end
with your tongue
to get it going again. you spit
the blue ink onto the windshield
where it immediately freezes.
to ginger. i'm sorry for
everything, for not
paying attention to you when
you talked about your cat. I hope
he or she is well.
lucy, what can I say.
I didn't mean to get gum
in your hair when we were
dancing that night, and you can
have my watch. I think
it may have rolled under your bed.
it has luminous dials, so it
should be easy to spot.
Karen, I hope it wasn't me
that made you a lesbian.
suddenly there's a knock at
the window.
a bearded man with a pair
of jumper cables. it's a burly
angel from the Ozarks.
quickly you ball the note
up and put it in your mouth
to swallow it. triple A you
mouth to the man as your teeth
chatter.