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Poetry by Ryan Quinn Flanagan 

Ryan is the author of Pigeon Theater.  He lives in Ontario, Canada.




© 2009 Ryan Quinn Flanagan







When Gloria got home from work

I took her by the hand

and told her

that a plane would be flying overhead at seven

and that

she might want to change into

something nice.


The largest smile came over her face

as she skipped away down the hall

toward the bedroom

and when she emerged

she had on her tight red dress

which she only wore

on special occasions.


We gathered on the front lawn

by seven

and a few moments after

a single engine Cessna flew by

with a banner in tow

that read clear as day:


"Oswald Was Not The Only Shooter"


Without a word

she let go of my hand

and went inside.


She seemed disappointed

that Oswald was not the only shooter.


She was even more dissatisfied

when the bill for the plane came

and she found out


I had used her credit card.







My First Telephone


My first telephone was constructed

of two tin cans

attached to the end of a string

and I let all the neighbourhood kids

use it free of charge.


Things were a lot simpler then.


There were no exorbitant customer charges

or monthly bills to pay

and long distance fees

never applied.


With the other caller

never more than five feet away

there was little need


for call display.










All work is property of Ryan Quinn Flanagan.




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