Nice People Swallow by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

We were all insanely drunk

and I started massaging her male co-worker

by the front door.

In a black shirt with red lettering 

that said:

Nice People Swallow.

She worked at this sex line 

that let under-aged girls get off 

in the Hartford area

and I guess they wanted to look 

half-professional on this night.

Taking out that functions hall 

along the Queensway.

All those white table clothes

with spotty cutlery.

Handing out trophies 

no one could remember.

And the way we were all so obscenely drunk 

and ruined the whole thing.

Clapped too loud for nothing 

and made a mockery of the dance

floor.

Even for a sex line 

that didn’t advertise.

Both of them fired

in the coming 

weeks.

Always in a way 

that the sodomists  

could cover their asses.

Which made things harder on us,

but never enough to care.

I still had my silly box store 

stock boy gig.

Tying my hair back 

and most of my opinions.

Doing the job I had to do 

for as long as we 

needed it.

Too poor to go anywhere,

you close ranks.

Meet lips with crimson lips.

The 84 year old landlord down the hall.

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,The Rye Whiskey Review, Outlaw Poetry Network, Under The Bleachers, The Dope Fiend Daily and In Between Hangovers.

Well on his way to dying.