box turtle road

On this porch for years we had a wringer washing machine, a loud demoniac contraption that vibrated and thumped as it played our clothes. I toyed with it, but one day it ate my arm all the way to the elbow, suddenly, like a tame tiger that takes a moment to grab the child. Neighbors gathered, and my father had to take the monster apart to release me.

After that I wore a sling

and sidled by to give the thing

my widest berth-

even when it was quiet I knew it poised to spring.