Leaving Sharpsburg

it is lonely here,
and all these
teenage girls
aren't old enough
for regret

lake sweat,
and Matt smokes
his wine-flavored

“I can’t wait
to get out,” he says,
against a heatwave
and a smokecloud

he signs his name
and puts out
the cigarette,
he hits the ship
and sails the seas,

and the girls don't
miss him
when he writes no letters