A Child Named Armpit Fart. By Ryan Quinn Flanagan

I took a balled up snotty tissue

from my left pant pocket

and threw it in her drink

at a party where no one was dancing

and she demanded to know why

I had done that

and I said it was to be closer

to her.

And she walked away in disgust.

Some people just don’t understand intimacy.

Sitting in pool furniture

under the stars.

   

Picking at skin tags

that should have married

and had children

named Rocco

or Armpit Fart  

long

ago.

 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.