RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN

RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN

COUP

The men pull up in the backs of trucks.

Others ride in on tanks waving flags.

The streets are filled with people

to greet them.

Radio static

across the dial.

Maybe this one will be successful.

The last one forgot to secure the airfields

and word got out.

Boiling the tea kettle,

I wait.

I do not have a gun in my hand,

so I must be the opposition.

I wonder if I should burn my dreams.

The smell of fire might alert them.

 

I REFUSE TO CONFESS

I will not give up myself.

I will not call in to the tipster line

for a cash reward.

I refuse to confess.

Mine are not crimes so much as vocations.

Yours can be crimes if you want.

I will not give you up either,

though you would me.

I will not stand behind glass

with the tape running.

I refuse to go on the record.

If I come to you, it will be in snippets.

Oddities of a planned extraction.

And what you think a breakthrough

is merely a tiny door left ajar.

 

THE PIPES ARE MOVING!

My uncle received a frantic call

from his maid

(yes, a rich uncle

who lived in Barbados)

and she was quite panicked

and telling him many times that

the pipes were moving

under the sink.

It took my uncle some moments

to figure out that it was a snake.

The maid had lived her entire life

on the island and never seen a snake

before.

No wonder her panic then

when the pipes started moving.

RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN

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, Setu, Literary Yard, Our Poetry Archive, and The Oklahoma Review.