This from Nebraska Review (1996)

Rainstorm

The Lord sits enthroned above the flood.  “Psalm 29"                                                  

for Glen Vecchione

Lost in rural Georgia, we did Jesus

one better and drove on water,

hydroplaning gully-washers

churned up by mid-summer heat.

The Caddy shimmied in the curves

and fish-tailed down the straights,                                                         

past red clay archipelagoes

of tenant shacks and trailer-parks

rinsed opal in the shifting squalls.

We lunched on RCs, Scooter Pies,

and watched the wipers skim

momentary half moon vistas

lush with peach and pecan groves

whipped by drenching scarves of wind

while gospel stations ghosted by

then crinkled into static shards.

and billboards asked if we were saved,

promised Hell if we were not. 

But the hootchy-koo Savannah 

kept low-country holy-rolling,

swinging through her tangled banks.

Shimmy, dear old Caddy, daddy’s car,

shake and roll, old rattling gospel–

the waters came, we skipped like calves

across the rich and sinful south.