By Ryan Quinn Flanagan Midges We are being good Canadians. Saving up all our recycling until it piles over and we have to drive out to the recycling place by the water treatment plant. And we have to drive deep into the woods. The windows rolled up because of the bugs. Swarms of midges that … Continue reading Midges and Other Poems
Dating the Pyramids I shower and shave and dress up for the evening. Style my hair with product before borrowing my parent’s car. Dating the Pyramids. One at a time, of course. I am a gentleman, you see. Have each of them home by curfew. Never wanting there to … Continue reading Poems by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
By Ryan Quinn Flanagan Someone was stealing trucks out in the industrial park at Morningside Drive out by the water tower and the army of geese that crap everywhere they could so that the shop foreman instructed me to back all the delivery trucks into the sheet metal factory floor each night and padlock the … Continue reading “Someone was Stealing Trucks”
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 … Continue reading “Roof Shingles Falling for Each Other”
By Ryan Quinn Flanagan She tells me she woke up out of a dead sleep, that she feared it would be like last night, but she reached over and felt my side of the bed still warm so she knew it was nothing like last night. * The snooker boys call their shots which would … Continue reading “Broken Glass Under a Shattered Sky”
By Ryan Quinn Flanagan Last night was a doozy. I dreamed I was a crockpot and all my organs were cooking. I was slick with sweat when I woke. Throwing a bus under the bus. Betrayal with passengers. Blue bucket seats wanting off the cataclysm. Wheels in motion. Everything happening at once. Singing cobras out … Continue reading “Throwing a Bus Under the Bus”
By Ryan Flanagan Scabs it would be hard to think of a better pejorative term for someone you are looking to shame those strikers of industrial action can really spit venom when they want to I doubt actual scabs even want to be what they are so kudos to the … Continue reading Scabs
By Ryan Quinn Flanagan The Real McCoy was named Elijah invented the ironing board and the modern lawn sprinkler and no one could do it better or cared because he was Canadian which is a nice way of saying thanks but no thanks when it matters.
By Ryan Quinn Flanagan The Rain Was Laughing Sideways …and the stranger came to town and no one knew him and he went to every house dropping a single breadcrumb on each doorstep and then the stranger left and never returned and everyone rejoiced because they had bread.
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 parts the job interview was not a success I told them some things I should not have … Continue reading Connector Flights of the Bumblebee