Just Tell Them I Shot Camelot Jack
Magic bullets,
I’m that good –
just tell them I
shot Camelot Jack,
no need to get
into specifics,
no one really
cares about them anymore,
just tell them I
did it and that should be good enough
to ride shotgun
all the way to the moon –
tell them I was
there as well,
installed a hot
tub right on the surface
that produces
nothing but strange rashes
and counterfeit
twenties;
I’m an
enterprising fellow –
ran guns to the
Sandinistas with my trusty
white alpaca
named Fletcher:
if anyone asks,
just say you misplaced the evidence,
that I’m a
long-time Castro enthusiast even
though I only
liked his beard.
In The Future
there’s a robot
comedian
who rips off his
own head
7 nights a week,
tosses it into
the air
yelling: HEADS
UP!
before trying to
catch it
without a head.
The rest of the
show
is the body of
the robot comedian
down on all
fours,
trying to find
its head
while the
audience
laughs.
The Night That Stuffed Wolf Fell Down From The Ceiling
Onto The Ice
It was beginning
to look like a rout.
The home team
had just scored again.
A retractable
stuffed wolf came out of the ceiling
as it did after
each home team goal.
Only this time,
the stuffed wolf
fell down from the ceiling
onto the ice below.
Two girls from
the spirit squad
quickly skated
out with shovels to remove
the stuffed wolf
through an open Zamboni
door and the end
of the rink.
The game resumed
and the home team won,
but it was the
fallen stuffed wolf that made the
Sudbury papers.
They would need
a new stuffed wolf, pronto!
There was
another home game the next night
and the fans
expected a dead wolf to cheer about.
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.
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