Poem for a Man Who Has Not Shaken Anyone’s Hand in Over Three Decades of Common Courtesy by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

He asks if there are any apartments for rent
and the landlord takes one look at him
and says there are not.
It is the same wherever he goes.
With a rare skin condition that causes large nodules
to hang off your face, very awkward.
What started in the schoolyard has carried over.
They no longer call him Frankenstein or Elephant Boy
and beat him up.
The snickering little girls in whispering groups
all waiting to be married off to some asshole
with a car.
Now it is more subtle.
Quick glances more than anything.
The job always filled.
And no rooms for rent
ever.

Ryan and the Beast Aug15
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a happily unmarried proud father of none. His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as Your One Phone Call, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Dead Snakes. He has an affinity for dragonflies, discount tequila, and all things sarcastic.
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