It took jumping on the tire iron
to loosen the first lug out in the subzero cold
on a gravel road outside Papillion, Nebraska,
then a few bangs and swear words
to loosen the rest. The dealer said
the tire just wore out trying to keep air in
when it was so cold outside,
must have leaked right through the seams
since the valve was good and the rim tight.

He said he’d seen a few people that way
that day, flat, soul-less, inanimate.
He had means to start a car in the cold--
chargers, oil pan warmers, alcohol sprays
that unstuck a frozen butterfly--
but wished he had a joke or hopeful point
of conversation to turn those people over.
Even coffee doesn’t do, he said.
It’s hot chocolate wins them over,

fat, milk, a sweet, thick taste, like insulation
against the hardness of life. Reminds them
of when their mothers beat back the cold.

© by Jeff Burt.
Used with the author's permission.