Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. ― Carl Sandburg
E Z P Z
Never mind the cosmos, have you
ever seen rushing suitcases wheeled frantically
through downtown bus terminals?
Picked up and dragged against the smug face of gravity
when they will not wheel fast enough.
Crying babies burped into a new silence.
The way the careless bus driver pulls away
from the curb as if leaving a faith he can no longer
afford to entertain. Both financially and spiritually.
Unsympathetic exhaust shooting out of the top
of the 5:15 to Toronto. Simple as that.
E Z P Z. Past a billboard that warns of dirty
needles if you are thinking of getting
a tattoo. The late comers forced to wait
an extra two hours before their next chance
to get out of dodge.
****
Taylor made
a mail slot
with an old motorbike
helmet
with a visor you could
throw up and down
and he rounded off
his door
to meet the angle
of the helmet
which he then screwed
into the door
and sanded down the edges
and spray painted
the word: MAIL
in red
over the top
of the helmet
so that his mailman
would understand the
process and appreciate
a different look
and someone called
the city
and complained,
but the by-law officer
quite liked it
if you are to hear
Taylor’s telling
of the story
which could be
the truth
or something
else,
but it’s a good yarn
regardless,
and he still has
the helmet.
****
Necromancers of the Elderly Unite!
They held this meeting
which was intended to be anonymous
just like the gamblers and alcoholics do,
but their colourful robes were a giveaway
and the long white beards that hugged
their faces like biological children,
one guy took public transit there
and started explaining protection circles
to the driver. He never made it, but most of
the others did. And the usual Wiccan guy
was home with the flu, so they got the gambling
therapist to stand in. And the room quickly turned,
and they could cast spells which made him worry
to no end, the cheese platter raided like the beaches
at Normandy.
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, Word Riot, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, andThe Oklahoma Review.
Published posts on Two Drops of Ink:
1) Poetry Break by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Two Drops of Ink: The Literary Home for Collaborative Writing
For the love of poetry
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Thanks so much Michelle!! 🙂
Ryan,
I have seen the rolling suitcases in bus stations around the world. They are the same everywhere. Nice poetry. 🙂
Loved the motorcycle helmet. I’ve never tried writing poetry. Maybe I should?
Thanks Mary! You definitely should 🙂