The Dog’s Meow
The microphone is unplugged, no matter.
The audience is off currying favour in strange horizons,
the lights turned down for effect:
Do you think they call what you do “low art”
just because you are the bottom stair?
The bottom stair does not answer.
There is much confusion.
It is the dog’s meow all over again.
Fluorescent lamps shimmer in the putrid
What about all you up in the winding nose
I raise the mic
as I stumble up the stairs
drunk on wine
in my girlfriend’s brown nylon
Is it hard to stay grounded
when you’re the third stair from the top?
I imagine it can’t be easy.
The third stair from the top does not answer.
Nobody is talking.
I fear someone may have gotten to them.
Maybe the mob.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his other half and mounds of snow. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, strange POEtry, Word Riot, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.