the nameplate leigh

the nameplate leigh

when the leaves fell

1
it was by rain at night
under the gas station light
the wind picked up, the rusty
conversion van dropped a slab of red
crusted trim from the base of the door

the bucket seats showed electric blue
velour, the backrests in track
pants balanced some strip of blonde
lacquered wood

the leaves will always fall
but wind is the best way
keep the nozzle nestled in the trap
door, right hip
eyes idle on the guage

the rain starts from sky
takes the van from the underside.

2
She had lung problems
and believed in miracles
that's why we never moved out of the molding
trailer
and he took to following religion
he would stand by the television
and look out the forward window like this ship
still took a captain

the hitch prowed out the bottom lip
of the single wide, we looked under once
to find the wheels.  they were
rotting and split but we still thought
they might roll and imagined
the might to push off this slab and down the road

3
when the leaves fell on a rainy autumn
night it was the last
the roof could hold off the thin red pool
that formed over the master bedroom
it was the night
the rain ran in her chest
and she could not cough it out

we left. i think we had in mind
a hospital but the tank was almost empty
and dad stopped at the exxon.
the trees are not the same when it gets late.
they get spiritual, she said. she asked to walk
around the station lot and we stopped at the sidewalk
where one old maple across the street 
shook sheets of gold down
blowing across the awning lights
the place got spiritual, sure, i can't
really tell it, like two places, but one
there are no more words for there
they pull back like sap from slender branches
when the leaves fall