By Amy Friedman

Sherrie’s mother stabbed the collar point with the iron.
Grey cigarette smoke wreathed her head.
“Mommy, what’s a ward heeler?” Sherrie said.
“Look it up.”
“In Wikipedia?”
“Find a better source.”
“Like what?”
“Like a dictionary.”
“My teacher says we have to use Wikipedia.”
“Your teacher’s an ass.”
Sherrie was silent for a moment.
“Mommy, you have to put a quarter in the bad word jar.”
“Later.”
“Yeah right,” Sherrie said to herself.
The long drooping ash fell onto the shirt.
The iron flew toward Sherrie, stopping when the electric cord snapped taut.
“Your fault, you little shit! Your fault!”