Bio: Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author who lives in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage. His work has been published both in print and online in such places as: The New York Quarterly, Setu, The Blue Mountain Review, Atunis Poetry and The Oklahoma Review. He enjoys listening to the blues and cruising down the TransCanada in his big blacked out truck.
Climbers
They are young and professional.
Move into the building even though
it is well beyond their means.
Getting in on the ground floor.
Looking to make all the right connections.
These climbers trying to smile, claw,
and glad-hand their way to the top.
Sleep with, lie and blackmail
if necessary.
A business arrangement
posing as a marriage.
Hosting lavish parties on credit.
Orchestrating many chance meetings,
being ever-present.
Until no one can remember a time
when they were not there.
As established as the building itself.
***
The Rastafarians
They stand outside this jerk chicken joint
by Sherbourne Station.
Long wagging dreads
under tri-coloured beanies
just after midnight.
Cat calling Patois tongues
never understood.
All dry mouth high.
The Rastafarians passing giant spliffs
with great rounded heads burnt down
in ceremonial fire.
Shirtless washboard abs
with bandana tucked in back pocket.
As the boys in blue slow down
for another long look along the flightpath.
***
The Swindling of the Swede
They moved in two doors down.
After being evicted from their last place
on Diefenbaker.
These two nasty old women
and their son.
There was another guy there
with coke-bottle glasses.
Right away, they began to spread out.
Like any virus.
The son shared some beers with the guy next door.
Got him to fix his car while he hooked up
with his girl.
The two woman spread old garbage and appliances
all over their lawn.
Parked multiple rust boxes in
numerous driveways.
The guy with the glasses spotted
an easy mark
as well.
Thus began, the swindling of the Swede.
In his late 80s and pretty much left on his own.
The kid started hanging out.
Going by and doing little chores.
Shovelling the drive in season.
Pretending to care for the Swede’s
well-being.
And you could see the con many miles away.
You just know he’s stealing
off the old guy,
my wife said.
It’s not right!
He’s doing a lot more
than that,
I answered.
Once the old guy kicks
it,
he’ll move right in.
You could see him eyeing up the new place.
The other one had now moved in with the girl
next door.
One house was two and would soon be three.
Dammit!
That was all my wife said
walking away from the window.
It seemed no one could save the Swede now.
They had their hooks in.
But this past weekend,
they moved out.
Trying to wait the Swede out,
but they were evicted from their
place first.
The son is still with the train wreck next door,
but the holidays seem to be break up season
for both her and her twin sister.
The Swede will never know how close he came.
The Meals on Wheels lady still comes by once a week,
but she has her own place.
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