"Some of the Best Investigative Journalists Suffer
from Allergies in Women’s Leotards" by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

There are no monsters under the bed.

I am under the bed.

It is dusty and my allergies act up.

I sneeze tiny rockets into space.

A forty year old man in women’s leotards.

Peppering the litterbox universe with life.

There might be monsters in space,

but not under the bed.

I am under the bed.

Poking holes in the underside

of the box spring.

The phone rings and no one answers it.

Apartment blocks are levelled half a world away.

I do not know if there are monsters in the closet.

I am under the bed.

"Sour Puss" by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

 

Everyone needs to grow a thicker skin.

Perhaps if we pooled our resources.

Peeled a little off at a time.

Nothing fatal, just a concerted effort.

 

I don’t see why it would need to match.

The question is one of thickness,

not continuity.

 

Brown, black, white, red, green….

Who the hell cares?

 

As long as we replenish the stocks.

 

Maybe humour can make

a comeback then.

 

I like to laugh.

The way I feel when my mouth hurts

and my aching sides too.

 

No sour puss for me.

 

Laughing at myself most of all.

No shortage of material

there.