Ryan Quinn Flanagan (Canada)

 
Ryan Quinn Flanagan (Canada)
 
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, Atunis Poetry, Our Poetry Archive, Blue Mountain Review, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.
 
 
That Deadbolt Ain’t for Me
 
I didn’t splash such fear across her face,
that deadbolt ain’t for me –
must be the new one, all too proud to play gutter hellion,
hitting on the screaming match that always
goes too far, jealousy knives in a dumpy kitchen
that has never heard of Caesar;
where to find your wings in a world devoid of angels?
I never cared enough to look such things out,
distance being the great realizer…
there is never enough love and surely not for the Self,
but I find these small moments like crumbs
under the couch cushions;
happy to be far away like a man shot into space
with all his favourite records.
 
I Could Not Lie to Her
 
Garbage strikes stink
all the lazy angels out of dust broom heaven
outside of an election year
and war is ugly as a leper losing count,
now way around that
and I could not lie to her,
even with those rare jewel eyes
made for nothing but the bedroom;
the pimp’s blade across her face
had made her a little less desirable,
even by the hour, which she didn’t want to hear;
I wanted her to know from a man on the job,
that being claimed screamed of a supervisor,
an immediate turn off to the working man
who pulled up to the curb and made up
nearly 90% of her clientele
each weekend.
 
Where Bikes Go to Die
 
The parts are strew everywhere.
Pedals, bodies, handlebars, wheel rims,
multiple gear shifts…
 
Across the lawn of this stolen bike yard
along North Bartlett.
 
New bikes arrive each day.
Right next door to my present living situation.
 
I hear the drills and saws going each night.
The guy in the rusted purple pickup that comes by every few weeks.
Paying a wad of cash to the open sore junkies
who load up the spoils.
 
The busy Christmas season is a frenzy
of sharks.
 
No kid has a new bike in this
neighbourhood
for long.
 
Tag Lines & Talking Points
 
One mouth begins the process,
followed by all the others.
 
The exact same words
in the exact same order.
 
On all the major media outlets.
So you know these are the tag lines
& talking points.
 
What you will hear regurgitated verbatim
in lunchrooms across the country.
 
Sold as news instead of common deflection.
The same way children point fingers.
 
The cookie jar is not going to incriminate itself.
So the circus goes on.
 
All clowns and makeup under
the big top.
 
Bride Come Groom
 
Seems as natural as following
the slaughterhouse right to hungry
dinner table conclusion –
it’s bride come groom, that cheering crowd
of game show prizes, the priest from the Greek
Orthodox down the street full of more olives than scripture
which makes for a salty ceremony indeed;
Lot’s wife just some horny bridesmaid on the cheap
while ZuZu Bailey leaves her wonderful life
to remind us that every time a stoolie sings,
a hitman earns his wings.
 
 
 
 

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