“I just made this sacred ground” by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

He staggered out into the middle of the darkened soccer pitch

and unzipped.

You need a hand? 

joked Harvey trying to drunken climb

one of the goal posts.

David returned moments later.

I just made this sacred ground,

he said.   

Then he made a gesture with his hand

and Harvey passed him the bottle.

There was only backwash left.

We need more juice!

David tossed the bottle which smashed 

against the nearby cinder track. 

That seemed to get the attention of three guys

in dark silhouette who quickly crossed the street.

You boys lost?

David rushed up and smiled.

It was Aaron with a fresh bottle

and Jake working on one of his own.

David didn’t know the third guy.

He grabbed one of the bottles 

and took a long swig.

Hey, save some for all the starving kids!

Aaron joked.

Harvey was hanging upside down by his feet 

from the top crossbar.

His shirt had fallen over his head.

The others had brought stones from the nearby track

and started tossing them at him 

until he gave up the position and fell

to the ground.

Your mom still hot as a toilet bowl?

Jake asked Harvey.

Hotter!

he said.

A car crawling by every so often.

Never the cops.

Everyone knew how to scatter anyways.

All the side alleys and surrounding forest.

Aaron lit a smoke, took a deep drag

and passed it to David.

There was almost nothing to do in a small town

and only so many others to do that with.

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.