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Read by Alexandra Teague

The farmer, husband
to my French teacher and friend
to my mother,

lifted a length
of pipe above his head,
brought it down

hard. Spat anger:
Goddamn possum.
Chickens erupted,

night interrupted
by this intruder, violence.
I remember

feathers, squawks,
a soft cracking sound
almost gentle

as steel
found skull. Goddamn
egg-stealing, hen-killing

fucking possum.
It was dark in the barn
but not

dark enough.
I saw the way
my mother looked at him.

Amorak Huey recently left the newspaper business after 15 years as a reporter and editor. He teaches writing at Grand Valley State University in Michigan, where he is also managing editor of the new journal Wake: Great Lakes Thought & Culture. His poetry has appeared in Gargoyle, Poet Lore, Atlanta Review, Crab Orchard Review, and elsewhere. He can be found online at