Of course there are the elements to consider
the stations of the cross like a subway of contrition
teabags steeped into nonexistence
new governments formed though natural processes
of erosion and osmosis
nefarious Chaplin and the pride of lions
all semblance and form and power steering
shipping crates packed full of the instruments of war
so that child soldiers can say they are in the band;
the last time we saw each other was not so good,
you with your husband and guilt, and me with
my many doomsday proclivities,
if we come together again, I would suggest more
like a car wreck, but without any of the apprehensions,
the room itself was nice: the water pressure agreeable
and the house stationary too.
*****
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 and The New York Quarterly.
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