A. A. Gunther
Atavism
The crows around the farmstand down my street
Have interesting beaks, ideally-shaped
To give the occipital lobe a tweak
By reaching through the socket of the eye.
They’ve seen me walking by for weeks and weeks
And are too bored with me to even bleat,
But at their wingbeat all my sense retreats,
And something in me shrieks “Today you die.”
A. A. Gunther
is a legal writer from Long Island, New York. Her short fiction can be found in
Dappled Things, while her poetry appears in
The Friday Poem, Mezzo Cammin, and
ONE ART and is forthcoming in
Ekstasis and elsewhere. She has eight younger siblings, at least two of whom can vouch for her character.