Koreatown by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

We are buying our drinks for the evening.
From an LCBO in the mall with bulletproof vests.
She is done with her conference
and the art gallery was a disappointment.

Too much Koreatown
and not enough renderings.

And later on the roof
we look at some gents atop
the condo across the street
and wave because they should
not be there.

You realize they could be shooters,
I say.

She closes her legs like that will help.

Later we find out that there has been
an active terror threat and those were
probably the authorities seizing the high ground.

Just as Carl von Clausewitz once suggested.
Sun Tzu in his art of war.

I figure them for snipers
and tell her to enjoy her beer.

Before walking among the many air ducts
that funnel everything out.

In the center of the banking district
lit up at night.

Knowing the world could end anytime
and that now would be ideal.

Leaning against
long blue beach chairs
with wooden backs.

That single white flash that never comes
so that we are left with the simple bad breath
of ourselves.

© 2018 Ryan Quinn Flanagan


Follow Ryan


Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, BlogNostics, Literary Yard, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.


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