By Ryan Quinn Flanagan

A hand in the land,
who needs a trowel?

Dirt under the nails.
Wires of robot circumcision snipped.
Grass clippings over naked legs.

Lyme disease ticks by the hedge line.
A hand on the hip for balance.

Roof shingles falling for each other.
Perhaps some lemonade.
Ice in a rattling sweaty glass.

Fertilizer hand, too dirty for the palm reader.
A post to hold up the green wire gate.

Perhaps inside.
Where all the vital organs congregate.
This Pez dispenser head lopped off with sugar high.

A fresh coat of paint
that does up in the front.

 

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, The Academy of the Heart and Mind, Setu, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

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