My father writes from Northern China.
To say that he has been working the fields
and even tried donkey shavings for dinner
which “weren’t half bad.”
He is with this nice Chinese woman now.
They seem quite happy,
but the rest of the family over there
sees him as the white devil.
He enjoys playing the heel and runs with it.
Sending pictures back my way.
Of the White Devil working the fields of Northern China
dressed in black lederhosen.
He is 67 years old
and picking vegetables less than 20 miles
from the Siberian border.
With a small army of Chinese peasants
in rice hats.
It is all so absurd.
Nothing in my Canadian childhood
has prepared me for this.
I hope he got the ass end of the donkey shavings,
my wife jokes.
That’s the best part!
Ass shavings!
I say.
Your father is eating ass shavings,
she laughs.
And dressed in lederhosen?
He looks like a chubby red Pinocchio,
I say.
Then we start drinking faster.
The world has gone mad without us
and now we are playing catch up.
It is going to be another one of these nights.
The couch suddenly snapping in half
so that I fall through.
My wife crumpled up on the floor
in laughter.
We will both hurt tomorrow.
Even worse than the couch.
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.
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