RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN

RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN

COMBS ASSUME HAIR

Any man

that does not

understand the geography

of himself

is simply

the map of

others.

 

TERRIBLE GOLDFISH

I see your wide swimming mouth

the bubbles your tiny life makes

dirty bowl fin flapping through

my mind

the cats detest you, terrible goldfish,

you give them a hunger

thwarted by a simple

screen

I watch them fail

and think of Napoleon

in Russia

the way men will follow men

to folly,

but get angry and tailgate a single car

not going fast enough

and the orange you speak of

is gone so fast it never colours

anything

I look for orange you, terrible goldfish,

the many hues on the walls;

scour the galleries without ever knowing

you have left.

 

I HEAR AFRICA IS BREAKING IN TWO

I hear Africa is breaking in two.

Well, it’s been a rough year for all of us.

It’s been sliding pesos under imaginary walls.

It’s been wedding cake that lasts forever

for a marriage that ended 20 years ago.

And the smell of egregiousness is everywhere.

Like a dirty fryer the fast food boys refuse to clean.

I dip my toe in the ocean and multiply.

Then fall off trying to mount the curb.

It’s Splitsville everywhere.

People leaving one place, only to leave another.

And the tip of my pencil breaks halfway through my signature.

I can’t be bothered to look out a new one to finish.

The quarterback of the Cowboys will be out 6-8 weeks,

torn labrum.

And the pictures I tape to the wall keep falling off.

I am in a terrible way.

So are all of you, I see it on your faces.

The way you wince each time you get up

to leave.

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