ANTS HAVE HILLS THE DIE ON
Egyptologists through the sand fast as busy beetles,
looking for curse rock kings with faces of apple crumble
that fall apart like the plots of ham-fisted detective
novels on the rack; scratch-and-sniff femme fatales
that smell like bubble gum in amber. Perspiration
from the sweat houses and bait shop wrigglers on the hook.
Infusions of blood libel and spoons of flustered custard,
that darning needle way you nose through traffic.
Machine gun nests moonlighting as electrical boxes
and broken beer bottles in the ramshackle gutter.
“The findings, collect the findings!” I hear a surprise party
voice demand. Sounds like razor blade soup, so I refuse.
Ants have hills they die on, I see it every day.
On my way to corner convenience, bellowing out the hits
like some shoelace god in a world of knots.
And what is left behind is a hoarder’s reminiscence,
clutter to a less-seasoned mind.
You become a part of it whether you are careful
or not, which is reason enough to take your clumsy chances.
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, Borderless Journal, GloMag, Red Fez and Lothlorien Poetry Journal.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
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One reply on “Ants Have Hills They Die On by Ryan Quinn Flanagan”
[…] Mary Pomfret, Subramaniam Cheemalapati, John Zedolik, Shazia Khatoon, Richard D. Houff and Ryan Quinn Flanagan. We have a translation of a Korean poem by Ihlwha Choi that reflects how putting aside differences […]