Presentable. by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

She says I have to look presentable

if I want a job.

I do not want a job, I need one.

There is a big difference.

I walk over to a nearest rack

and hold something frilly up to

my chest.

She laughs

and says that is the Women’s

section.

Women often seem the most presentable to me,

but I put it back to avoid any argument.

Then I walk over to another section

grab a new one off the rack

and hold it up.

That’s a Poncho, you would really

walk into a job interview in that?

I hold it out

look at it for some moments

then put it back.

How about these?

That’s a pack of underwear,

you are not even trying.

It’s Men’s,

look it says it right here

on the package.

She turns away

and starts flipping through racks

with a strange bionic efficiency

that no man can ever understand.

Shirts first, then pants.

When she has a large enough pile draped

over her arm

we head to the change rooms.

She has already swatted off two different

sales ladies like flies that were buzzing around.

Now she makes me come out with each new outfit

and eyes me.

Scrunching up her nose

and nodding “no” many times.

When I am in the change room,

she keeps coming back

with more.

This goes on for much longer than I have ever participated in sex.

Before she tells me she doesn’t like their selection,

and that she know this other place with better

prices, and that perhaps we can try

that place tomorrow.

I put my clothes back on

and walk out of the

store.

Telling her I really liked that Poncho

when I didn’t.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire.  Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts."  His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.