Friday, November 18, 2022

Two Poems by Ryan Quinn Flanagan



I was in a nasty mood 

all morning.


Three days drunk

and really feeling the harm

when I said it.


The wallpaper curled away in disgust.

Strips of fly paper dangling from the hairy insect gallows.


There was nothing I could have said

to fix it.


Pressing the bottle against my lips,

I surrendered.



Black Houdini


Talking to my neighbour 

off on disability 

a few days back,

I told him I lived in Kingston

and a smile came over his face

as he told me he knew a few guys

serving time in the Kingston Pen,

this one crazy African fella they called “Black Houdini”

because his entire left arm under the elbow

was without feeling, so that he could 

slide the cuffs right off and started

wailing on the guards

who quickly figured out 

that you had to cuff him above 

the elbow or you were in 

for a real surprise.



Bio: Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and mounds of snow. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, The Asylum Floor, Horror Sleaze Trash, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review. He enjoys listening to the blues and cruising down the TransCanada in his big blacked out truck.

No comments:

Post a Comment

One Poem by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

A Real Escape Artist  The woman upstairs  ran a tight ship, never let her husband speak out of turn and made him deal weed in the basement: ...