Scott T. Hutchison

RUNNING FROM COPS

You should. You should take a stab at
a little larceny, a modicum of mayhem,
theft and vandalism in a modest amount.
And when the blues roll in on you,
put those flash-footed shoes
in the night wind. Allow alarm
to become a racing joy.

Avoid humiliation in central processing,
enduring the texture and smell of steel bed
and the piss pail--hard and stinking real--along with
the unbreakable bars, the monsters
and the screws—these
destinies reserved for the hard time future
and lockdown outcome
plaguing slow-dumb stumblers,
junked-up foggers.

But you, just do a little bit of bad.
Keep the clear mind, know the slick
sprint routes, the creative lose ‘em corners
and the daring darts into darkness—you don’t need
to hurt nobody calling down the heat--just get loose,
let your mischief do a light boil, and when righteous pursuit
is hot on your ass--breathe deep through those fiery lungs
feel the adrenalin conspire and laugh
through your hard-working thighs—be smartly scared
of the incarcerating possible, but be doubly awed
by the chaotic power of your lively escape
beneath the winking stars.


Scott reads "Running from Cops":



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Scott confesses: "Anyone having run from cops can tell you: there's a special adrenaline fire in your feet. Such running can be fun if you were only doing mischief and you got away. Then, when the heart slows down, you can kind of laugh. You got lucky. I've had that fire in my feet. I enjoy it as memory—not something I continue to choose as an experience. Even with the extra boost in the blood, I can't imagine running that fast ever again."

SCOTT T. HUTCHISON's previous work has appeared in Loud Zoo, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, and Massacre. Poems are forthcoming in Louisiana Literature, Appalachian Heritage, The Adirondack Review, The Comstock Review, and Tar River Poetry. A new book of poems entitled Moonshine Narratives is due out in late 2018 from Main Street Rag Publishing.

Scott T. Hutchison

GLOSSY

Sometimes I'm moved to do a righteous
violence, but I've learned to turn away
and decompress, content with
doing my toenails--"Raging Pink"
always strikes me as the color
of calm and tender. When my old
criminal tendencies wince deep
beneath the scars decorating my flesh,
I let my penitentiary memory rise up—

Curls was a fine girly-boy who did
many a damned and damning thing
behind the Big House bars, but when
he escaped the hands and howls of
the other demon dogs, stuttering my way
in an effort to settle himself, then
our nightstick realities relaxed
into softwood, all 'cause that boy

asked to paint my toes. We're talking
the simple act of cradling a stank foot
and forgiving, making an ugly thing
brighteous with enameling that whispered
of a second-chance world that could smile
at all things manicured, silly, and quiet.

My wife knows and nods, mirrors
that ten-year felony jolt by gussying up
my big ugly crookeds
with the small brush; she uses
the word "cute" which I want to hate

but I have no time left for hatred,
no gift for sustained anger expressed
with knuckles or jacketed metal.
I still have a glossy photo
of that boy Curls all bright-eyed smiling
through his signature false eyelashes.


Scott reads "Glossy":



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Scott confesses: "I teach a creative writing course, and one of my assignments involves writing from photographs. I am quite taken by the rough-edged characters in Daniel Woodrell's fiction, and 'Glossy' grew out of reading Woodrell and photo poems."

SCOTT T. HUTCHISON's work has appeared in such publications as Poet Lore, The Southern Review, and The Georgia Review. New work is forthcoming in Kestrel, Aethlon, and Cold Mountain Review. His work was just nominated for the Pushcart Prize by Newfound.