Lyrhick #16
The boy gunned it the very first time. His mother wincing in the kitchen. He’ll be alright, his father said from the porch. The apple doesn’t fall far. I wish it would’ve rolled aways, she said. The rubber he laid down is not a what but a when. Several nights several summers ago. Like the high water mark you remember the flood by. The kind of boy the cops hear is out driving around now. They were the ones who had to tell her, hats in their hands. No one boy should be given that much car, folks said.