There is a stop light

in front of Weston Autobody;

in evening the autoshop light sears


Some stand – columns –

and hold cars with outstretched fingers.

One hangs like a bodied hammock

another is a bowed branch.

The light colors them

into not-yet-shed virgins,

discovered about to uncover

something known.

It is inappropriate night play

to handle hammers under eerie light.

Better coffee mugs, sleeping infants, books.

A discharged weapon.

It was the temp’s first night on Triple A.

Armed with ratchet and wrench

he dug into the boy’s belly

mistaking glisten for gleam.

Do you enjoy reading the Nass?

Please consider donating a small amount to help support independent journalism at Princeton and whitelist our site.