Driven by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

I tell her it is unfair to say that I am not driven
just because I do not have a chauffeur,
such things require monies and monies require
a job like the one she has.  I call her an elitist.
Some stale leftover from the gilded age.
Powdering her face with a shipment of cocaine
under different circumstances.
Are pizzas driven I ask?
I bet they are.
Just because the pizza delivery guy
will drive them all over hell’s half acre
for tips.
She is not listening to me anymore.
This happens with a recidivist’s frequency.
A tiny black ant I have been watching for some time
is forced to traverse the floor on foot.
I decide to call him Arnold
and let him live another few minutes.

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.