Standard Approval

He didn’t ask why the lights were left on.

He just went to the garage and returned

with the jumper cables coiled like snakes,

heavy and cold in the humid air.

He handed me his industrial flashlight,

a black weight that felt like a loan

with a high interest rate of gratitude.

I didn't know where to put my eyes.

Now there is a smudge of black grease

ground into the whorls of my thumb.

I’m standing in the driveway, holding the light,

wondering how to pay back a man I barely know.