Ghosting My Way into the Afterlife by Ryan Quinn Flangan

Coffee Bean

Coffee bean on the floor
split down the middle like surgical
ward incisions,
who put you all the way down there, friend,
as if starting a long climb from 
the foot of a volcano?
You should feel lucky in many ways 
to have escaped the grind,
your humming dark roast brethren 
were not so lucky.
Now, the house smells kind as candy.
Stained lip of a personalised mug.
Coffee bean on the floor
I will pull up my socks, 
kick you under the fridge
so we can both go into hiding.

(First appeared in BlogNostics)
 
You gotta be rich to die there

The rich and famous don’t even croak the same as us.
They have their own place.
The Motion Picture & Television Country House
and Hospital.

With plenty of generous donors.
George Clooney is one.
You gotta be rich to die there.

I guess the celebs see the others at the end
and figure it prudent to kick a little cash
that way for when it is their turn.

They have a stipulation that you have to 
have worked “actively” in the film and entertainment 
industry for at least two decades.

Then you get to be special.
Die with original Picasso’s adorning
the halls.

I’d imagine their bedpans are solid gold.
But Death being what it is, they never stay
that way for long


(First appeared in Terror House Magazine) 

Marcel Duchamp’s Snow Shovel

Last time I checked 
they didn’t get a lot of snow in Israel,
but they have Marcel Duchamp’s
snow shovel there
with an inscription that reads:
Prelude to a Broken Arm, 1915.
I think ole Marcel would have 
quite a good laugh
if he knew his snow shovel
was stored in the Holy Land.
Seems like the kind of thing
you may want to store up
in these more arctic of 
temperaments.
I have two snow shovels 
and the Holy Land isn’t
asking for either.

(First appeared in Poetic Musings)