Outside the Phoenix Nightclub. by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Security stops

the men and frisks

us down.

All the women walk by

and wait by the door.

To check their coats

if they wish.

I guess I’ll just leave all my drugs

and guns with the missus next time,

seems you guys run a real tight ship.

The muscle head ignores me

and continues the pat down.

If you get any closer we’re going to have to get

married, my family is very traditional.

The guy beside me is not a friend.

The missus’ friend from work met him

over the sex line they both work at.

He sounded different, she said.

Like he didn’t want sex?

my missus asked.

I am pretty sure he is a serial killer.

The quiet type.

Just starting out, I can tell he

is still clumsy.

And the bouncers take an extra-long time

with us because I won’t shut up.

You feel up other guys for a living?

Your father must be proud.

You know there are at least half a dozen gay bars

less than three blocks from here.

They make things real easy.

You should just come out, I will sponsor you.

Like those bloated Christian charity

children on the tv.

Just stop talking, the missus implores.

I do and we are let inside.

To meet up

with some people

she has agreed

to meet.

To shoot pool

and dance

with three floors

of live DJs.

By the Sherborne St. subway

where all the chicken hawks

eat for free.

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, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Dope Fiend Daily and In Between Hangovers.