His library was impressive
but I could tell by the way that he
buttered his morning toast
that he was not well read.
Who gets up in the morning anyways
if they do not have to?
That was a flag right there.
And I could see
he had something against the Russians
because he would never look east,
not even for the sunrise,
it is little things like that.
People confuse language with communication.
What is NOT said by what is said
is often more important.
The minutia, the nuance…
like Sartre building an ant farm
out of company sand.
And he asked me to stay another night
and I told him I could not
because poison ivy is contagious.
I am in bed
listening to the
Nodding off every so often
like the elderly do
on the subway.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his other half and mounds of snow. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Word Riot, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.