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Monday, August 17, 2015

Featuring the poetry of Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Meth Lab

It is good to see the entrepreneurial spirit
alive and well, young people branching out,
diversifying, not doing what their parents did
or their parents before;
people coming and going like books
checked out of the library
banging on the door at all hours:
shaky, thin, in tatters -
up on lifted feet, peering into darkened windows,
a blue stained mattress in the front yard
nearly swallowed up by overgrown brush
there is no one to cut the lawn
the great indoors, everyone busy inside,
and when the cops come finally
they will find all those funnels
and something on the stove
that is not mother’s

For Your Viewing Pleasure

First the woman came in.
A gringo girl, blonde,
just like the Chicanos liked them,
sprinkled in many oils
hamming it up for the

Then they brought in the donkey
stage right
from behind a musty brown curtain
and forced it to mount the woman
from behind
with a series of ropes
and pulleys.

And I thought of Catherine the Great.
All those animal rights crazies throwing buckets
of their menstrual blood
over glamorous fur-coat

But this was Mexico.

Life was cheap.
The drinks too.

And the way the donkey squealed
you could tell it wanted no part
of that woman.

As if it had been a man of God
or a pencil sharpener  
or a raging

in a past

Interest Rates Rise with a Gun in Your Face

Ski-masks in summer
there must be a bank nearby
and a getaway vehicle legally parked
to avoid surprises
and the men brandishing guns
run by
and their guns run by
as well

on their way
to be stuck in the face
of some lucky

who thought her
low fat yogurt would be
the highlight of


Jobs Don’t Look for People

and I had many resumes
out all over the place

and many more
in a polished black case
under my arm

from a second hand shop
2000 miles away

that made me look more like
a travelling Adventist
then a prospective

and every day at noon
I would watch the kid dressed up
as a medieval bard
offer a single red rose to passing couples
then compose a song on the spot
to the maiden in question
so that the boyfriend was a cheapskate
if he didn’t buy the full bouquets
of half dead flowers from
the black bucket
at the bard’s bell-slippered feet

it was a real good hustle
I watched it every

as I popped pimples on my 21 year old face
and wondered why the inner harbour
always smelled of garbage.

The Firefighters

The fire engine
pulled up to the curb
and the firefighters
jumped out.

There were four of them
all laughing
as they quickly unzipped
stood over a homeless man
laying on a subway grate
aimed their firehouses
and sprayed.

The homeless man didn’t even stir.
He may have been dead.

Then the firefighters
all jumped back in the fire engine
and sped away.

to the next

Carbon Dating my Farts Back to the Bums
of Galilee

They wanted to know
why the painter had painted a flying saucer
into the back of his annunciation painting
back in 1600
but the painter was long dead
so they dug him up
and interviewed his bones
with many cameras

laid out anatomically
more or less
on a long white tarp
in conference room C
of some big shot hotel
with its own bottled

Question after question.
For many hours.
But the painter remained mum.

Which only added

to his legend.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a happily unmarried proud father of none. He lives in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with a nurse that drives a big blacked out truck and many bears that roam the streets going through his garbage.