Batteries in July

by Lisa Wood, Grosse Pointe Farms

I eat gapes
one night in a
Wal-Mart parking lot
sitting next to him
as he tries
to break a battery
on the black asphalt
all around us.

I wonder what
it would look like,
he says.

He taps it harder, but
it doesn't even dent.
He sighs, placing
the shiny cylinder
aside, and rests
his head against
a wrist bandaged
in white.

I look away
and begin
to study the
burnt-out letters
of the Denny's sign
across the street.

–Lisa Wood, Grosse Pointe Farms

Take me back to the Summer Fiction index. E-mail comments to [email protected]

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