2 poems, by ryan quinn flanagan

underground parking

She told me she sat down
in that underground parking garage
for over an hour.

Striped naked
and splayed her legs out
in between the yellow lines
waiting for anyone to undress
and park there.

A few stopped to gather a look
before moving on.

No one even called the cops.
After a while, she got cold and put her clothes
back on and walked home in the rain.

She is very disappointed with humanity
these days.

I hardly blame her.

shit keeps coming

It’s life,
I can’t do anything about it.
It happens to you,
it happens around you.
The more you fight it, the more you invite it,
least that’s what some asshole that looks a lot like me
once said.
All I know is the shit keeps coming.
It never gets better.
It never gets worse.
This is not some stupid philosophical exercise.
This is coat hanger beatings.
This is gag reflex over the chunky brown bowl.
This is cabbies at knifepoint that barely speak the bloody language.
Forget a better life.
This is the only one you got.
I try to live mine in the best way I can.
It isn’t easy.

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