The chain gang sweats and gawks.  A prisoner squints prays whispers: Lucille.  She has a bucket of soapy water and a sponge.  She turns the nozzle on the hose and sprays an old car and sponges and really gets her body and her threadbare dress all soapy wet as she massages the steel, writhes wildly so you know for sure those fullheavy breasts could knock you out cold, could get to swinging and smack you upside the head and knock you straight off your feet.  You laugh.  You grin at your dad because you know you are not mature enough to watch this (mature content).  He repositions his chew.  Nods at the TV so you see it’s more than permission he’s giving: this is a directive, a father exploring what his son is made of while passing on an indelible truth about survival, a shift toward manhood even if you don’t know what is shifting or why or how violently.  You could never accurately discuss what your father has put you up to but you’ve seen this in movies like The Lion King where the young cub has something to learn from his lion father but when the lesson doesn’t stick the whole savannah kingdom falls into disrepair with bloodthirsty hyenas lurking around every boulder.  There is no kingdom for you.  Just your father’s armchair and the ratty couch beneath you.  The TV encased in imitation wood.  The ’74 Buick Regal in the driveway.  Joy Harmon wrings soap from her sponge and your grin melts to a gape because you know dad’s Buick is the kingdom you’re meant to inherit and this is a seminal moment in your ascension: fullheavy breasts, soaking wet and slick with soap and suds, fully pressed on the window and the camera inside the car so it seems she is pressing her breasts into you, over and over as she stretches to sponge the roof, the chain gang still gawking from the road and some of the men start shaking like their bodies are expelling demons but even they are not getting this view, the view your father directed you to see, the view from inside the car where the camera has taken you, breasts squished on the glass like they are right there inside the TV, pressing out, ready to burst into your lap and you wonder about the demons inside of you, if you will ever get to shaking too.