Kaiser Rolls Do Not Speak German By Ryan Quinn Flanagan

trust me, I have given them a fair hearing,

many afternoons planted down in front of them

with a pencil and pad of paper

waiting to transcribe what is being said,

but nothing is said, in German or otherwise,

and when I go to bed I lay awake thinking I can hear

whispering in the other room

so now I bring my Kaiser rolls to bed with me

and they smell so good that I take one out

and nibble on it every now and then

which is perhaps why they have nothing

to say to me, though I have had women nibble on my earlobe

and I still talked to them;

it seems a little unfair, this selective persecution

really, the silent treatment…

what are we in grade school again?

yes yes, I know I should grow a thicker skin

to match my beard, I am not without fault in this matter

I know this,

but Jesus H would it hurt them to say something,

anything?

Remember back when you were supposed to talk to the hand

and that meant someone did not want to talk to you?

I talk to my hands and they have

nothing to say    

either.

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.