By Ryan Quinn Flanagan


The mail comes

and I stand up tall

beat my bare chest like

a silverback gorilla


tearing paper towels

from the rack


dismembering the television

down to its various



the job interview was not a success

I told them some things I should

not have


and now

there are letters outside,

likely a bill or two;

everyone wanting money


in my snazzy fox boxers

running my fingers down the

window screen


as though

one of us is really getting


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