by Amy Lerman
I can’t study anymore. Even If I do, I won’t be able to explain ideal marriage in Faulkner when my professor asks during tomorrow’s exam. I walk to campus town, the one department store that still uses the pneumatic tubes from when it was a bank. I find a register’s corner. There, I anticipate patrons depositing their credit cards. A moment of silence until my eyes involuntarily close, each transactional suction like a dusty metronome’s steadying ticks.
6S
Amy Lerman, by way of Florida, Illinois, England, and Kansas, lives with her husband and very spoiled cats in the Arizona desert where she is residential English Faculty at Mesa Community College. Her chapbook, Orbital Debris (Choeofpleirn Press) won the Jonathan Holden Poetry Chapbook Contest, she has been a Pushcart nominee, and her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Scapegoat, The Queen's Review, Atticus Review, Solstice, Prime Number, Radar Poetry, Slippery Elm, Rattle, Smartish Pace, and other publications.
Flash fiction in exactly six sentences. Publishing writers since 2006.
