ryan quinn flanagan | new towels

New Towels

The new towels hang in the bathroom
near the tub.


They are a strange blue
and tiny pieces of fabric
come off
and stick to my hands.


It’s not the end of the world,
just a minor irritant.


Enough to flare the nostrils
but not much else.


I do not like these new towels.
I much prefer the old towels.
One set of blue, one set of green.


Frayed
raggedy
and familiar.


I do not remember buying these new towels
even though my old lady says
I, myself, picked them out.


Anything
is possible.


Think
Franco in jean
shorts


the Fall of
Rome.


The truth is
there is very little
we control.


Planes will crash
buildings will crumble
people will die,
no matter.


I do not like these new towels.


Sometimes
it is simple
as that.

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