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Bildungsroman, No!
poetry by
Ryan Quinn Flanagan
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Tuition Hikes Are Just Nature Hikes Without the Boots
Have they got me finally?
The prison of academia.
The green ivy wine and cheese.
More letters after your name
as if the name was not
enough.
Last week
I found myself with a red sharpie
in a downtown bus terminal
bathroom stall
editing the grammar
and punctuation.
When I was done and wiped
and flushed
I went from stall
to stall.
An unpaid internship I convinced myself.
There is something terribly wrong with me.
The underwear drawer full of homemade
ninja stars.
My many soapbox readings of Whitman
to all my stuffed animals.
The bald head of Lenin so I can rub it for good luck…
They have taken my driver’s license away
and I can hardly blame them
for that.
RYAN QUINN FLANGAN is a native of Barrie, ON; a city known for the tornado of 1985 and little else. He presently resides in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada under ten feet of snow with a nurse who drives a big blacked out truck. His work can be found both in print and online. He has an affinity for dragonflies, discount tequila, and all things sarcastic.
Have they got me finally?
The prison of academia.
The green ivy wine and cheese.
More letters after your name
as if the name was not
enough.
Last week
I found myself with a red sharpie
in a downtown bus terminal
bathroom stall
editing the grammar
and punctuation.
When I was done and wiped
and flushed
I went from stall
to stall.
An unpaid internship I convinced myself.
There is something terribly wrong with me.
The underwear drawer full of homemade
ninja stars.
My many soapbox readings of Whitman
to all my stuffed animals.
The bald head of Lenin so I can rub it for good luck…
They have taken my driver’s license away
and I can hardly blame them
for that.
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