That Sucks. by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

I feel like one of those work-release prison buggers

with his pecker in his hand.

Peering out from behind musty brown curtains,

past uneven eyebrows.

A group of kids in the motel parking lot

going from one vehicle to another.

With a two jerry cans and a hose.

Siphoning off the gas.

When they get to my car,

I bang on the glass.

One gives me a thumbs up

as they move onto the

next.   

The smallest one providing the suction

to the hose

as though he may have a future in the stalls

of public bathrooms.

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.