He pawns his Fender. Buys a bug zapper from the Salvation Army. He hangs it from a branch outside. She plugs it in when she’s bored and horny. She knows him, how the crackle of static placates his inner voice. She sits him on a bucket. Squirts a tube of lube into her hand. He examines her bosom, warts protruding from it like quartz nuggets on a pewter sheet.The zap of a bug kill volts through the mosquito screen. Die motherfucker, he says. She shushes him. Says, take off your stinky buckskin, The smoke of thorax drifts in through the window and spreads itself. She drizzles a translucent gel across his forehead. Her hands tremble.He flares his nostrils, murmurs, Die motherfucker. Die.
Kendra Grant Malone and Matthew Savoca