Perhaps, a crow.
            Perhaps circling, landing, crowing.

There’s a metal rod in his knee that gets ice cold in February.

            Sits by the electric heater, mutters “hmm”.

Perhaps, a comet comes and wipes us all out.

            That’d be something.

                        Then it’s like it was, vague, translucent, and burgeoning.

Andrew Hutto is a GTA fellow at the University of Louisville pursuing a master’s degree in English. He was awarded third place in the 2020 Flo Gault Poetry Prize and second place in the second annual Poetry Derby hosted at Churchill Downs. In the summer of 2019, he served as a preliminary judge for the Louisville Literary Arts Writer’s Block Prize. Presently he serves on the Pine Row Press editorial board. His work appears in Thrush Poetry Journal, The Weekly Degree°, Cathexis Northwest Press, Math Magazine, Poet Lore, High Shelf, Twyckenham Notes, and previously in Eunoia Review.

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1 Response to Rather

  1. Maria Mocha says:

    Interesting imagery.

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