RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN

RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN

SLOW BURN

I feel that slow burn

spreading to itinerant places

haunts of eluded ghost rattles

down the blood flow

I ball my hands up into fists

so my knuckles can crack

beside silent bells

this is the auction and

the sacrifice

this is corrected temperament

backing out of strange

driveways

a sudden warmth

over the land

for a new

sun.

 

ILLUMINATI TATTOO

He had this tattoo on his right bicep

of a pyramid with an eye

and I wanted to ask him if he thought

pyramids really had eyes

the same way potatoes and iguanas

have eyes

and I guess he caught me staring at it

because he told me it was an Illuminati tattoo

and I asked what the Illuminati was

and he said they were the people that controlled everything

and I asked him if they could do something about my constipation

and the paperboy cutting corners

and he flexed his bicep and asked if I thought it was cool

and I didn’t but to say so would have been rude

so I just agreed with him that pyramids have eyes

and left it at that.

 

HAIRCUT

It was when we were living in that place along Bernick Drive.

My grandfather would stop by unannounced.

He would run his giant fingers through my hair and chide my parents:

it’s getting long, he would say, no grandson of mine is going

to look like a hippie.

Then he would take me in his old grey Crown Victoria.

My parents would never protest.

And he would tell the hairdresser to buzz it all off.

They would stare at him for a moment than down at me.

Then they would buzz it all off.

And I loved the sound of the brazer (that’s what I called it

when I was five years old).

I would close my eyes and almost fall asleep in the chair.

Then the hairdresser would remove the smock

and brush the loose hair away.

And my grandfather would palm my head.

Turn it side to side.

Inspect her handiwork before paying.

Then we would go for ice cream even though

it was the middle of January.

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, Setu, Literary Yard, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.