Sudbury

by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

In room 202

of the Travelway Inn

on Paris Street

I woke up and knew

I had to eat something

or be sick.

I threw on some clothes

from the floor

and grabbed some change

off the side table.

Staggered two blocks West

to the nearest convenience store

and as I passed through the parking lot

I noticed a parked red Sonata

with half a face blown off

in the driver's seat.

The morning frost ensured that bits of cranium

caked frozen to part

of the driver side window

after having slid down halfway.

I went into the convenience store

and bought a bag of pork rinds

and a Hustler.

I opened the bag

and ate one

as a crowd gathered around the car.

When I got back to my room

I pulled down the shades

folded my half eaten bag of pork rinds

to seal in freshness

and jerked off to the schoolgirl

and the charge nurse

doubled up

on page 24.

88A

by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

There was always one light on

each night

as I stumbled home

from the bar.

The rest of the lights on the street

were out

but the senile widow at 88A

always left her light on,

convinced that her husband who had been dead

five years

was cheating on her.

She was up at dawn each following morning

accosting passers by

and asking them

if they had seen her husband

who hadn't come home

last night.

One day

a white unmarked van came

and took her away

and a young family of first time homeowners

moved in.

Last night

the entire street was dark

when I stumbled home

from the bar.

It's been that way

for weeks now.

Finding Jesus Using Only a Prostitute and a Compass

is no small feat
when you're only paid up
for the hour.

Add to that,
the sobering terror of nothing
to drink,
a sorry lack of spermicide,
and a twenty-something brunette
who refuses to come out
of the bathroom.

Finding Jesus using only a prostitute
and a compass
is not the ideal way
to spend a Friday night,
but than again,
I never thought I'd be laying here

playing at Brando
with the ladies
or Cagney with the Tommys.

Raised on road hockey
and dungeons and dragons,
I'm forever that small town kid
who jerks off to the glossy promises
of magazine women
he will never meet
and waits to merge into oncoming
traffic
when old enough
to drive.

That said,
you should feel honoured
to have been with me
all those years
ago.

I don't just shower and deodorize
for anyone.

by Ryan Quinn Flanagan