To Hot Men by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

She has been talking about Jim Morrison 

and how I used to look like him when I was younger,

but now it’s more like the new aqua man.

I laugh and say,

yeah, without any of the muscles.

We are back in the kitchen for a refill.

She asks whose turn it is to toast

and I tell her it is hers.

She thinks for a moment,

then raises her glass.

To hot men,

she says.

I clank her glass without thinking.

Wait…what? 

I say.

Oh my god, she laughs.

…that I married,

she adds on.

That doesn’t help me! 

I say.

I just toasted to hot men everywhere.

You can’t take a toast back.

She has to put her drink down.

She is laughing so hard her sides hurt.

I catwalk strut into the next room 

with my shorts down around my knees

to keep the good times going.

Our fake palm trees lit up like Christmas

in the corner.

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.