Hunting Party
Women
standing in doorways
where have the
men gone?
The children lice scratched and sniffling
playing in piles of burnt out trash
chasing vermin with sticks.
A hunting party in hand-me-downs,
the grey plumes of the factories
swallowing up a sickly
sky.
And the women are no longer beautiful.
The have been tricked and forgotten.
Everything hanging loose like dusty idle chandeliers.
These once youthful women no longer so.
Crossing their arms in darkened alcoves, quite terse;
a second hand patchwork of cloth and wire
and nicotine themselves.
I look into their eyes and there is nothing.
Only the children remain.
And the mice and the sticks
and the factories
forever waiting.
Jumped In
There was a sense of belonging
that was nowhere else
a family to fill the void
so he agreed to let them
beat him for an entire minute:
six young kids beating one other kid,
stomping him with their boots
as they had been stomped
because nothing was ever any more
than it was.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a happily unmarried proud father of none who presently resides in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada. His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as Your One Phone Call, In Between Hangovers, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Dead Snakes. He has an affinity for dragonflies, discount tequila, and all things sarcastic.
Women
standing in doorways
where have the
men gone?
The children lice scratched and sniffling
playing in piles of burnt out trash
chasing vermin with sticks.
A hunting party in hand-me-downs,
the grey plumes of the factories
swallowing up a sickly
sky.
And the women are no longer beautiful.
The have been tricked and forgotten.
Everything hanging loose like dusty idle chandeliers.
These once youthful women no longer so.
Crossing their arms in darkened alcoves, quite terse;
a second hand patchwork of cloth and wire
and nicotine themselves.
I look into their eyes and there is nothing.
Only the children remain.
And the mice and the sticks
and the factories
forever waiting.
Jumped In
There was a sense of belonging
that was nowhere else
a family to fill the void
so he agreed to let them
beat him for an entire minute:
six young kids beating one other kid,
stomping him with their boots
as they had been stomped
because nothing was ever any more
than it was.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a happily unmarried proud father of none who presently resides in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada. His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as Your One Phone Call, In Between Hangovers, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Dead Snakes. He has an affinity for dragonflies, discount tequila, and all things sarcastic.
