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February 26, 2024


By Ryan Quinn Flanagan


I could
sit in the
cool dark cocoon
of my room
and pontificate forever,
but what good
would that

I could pour salt shakers
over slimy slug life
by the back sliding door
and claim victory
for compression sock gentrification

I would never do it,
but I could spy for the Martians
pro bono.

Really give them the goods.
Park cars for money
with the windows rolled

Chlorinate holiday pools
out of their germs
like robbing a bank
made of water.

Article © Ryan Quinn Flanagan. All rights reserved.
Published on 2017-12-18
Image(s) are public domain.
1 Reader Comments
sarah ito
01:01:12 PM
You write a great short poem, Ryan. You say a lot with very little. Congrats.
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