ryan quinn flanagan | blood sausage

Blood Sausage

It is just what you think it is,
she says.

Bloody vampires they are,
I retort,
an island of thirsty vampires.

But you eat ground meat.
Where do you think it comes from?

That’s different,
I say,
I don’t roll it up like a Cuban
and eat the blood.

Quit being such a pissy little neurotic,
she chides,
you get this way whenever my mother
threatens to visit.

I do not answer her
so she believes she is

Pouring another goblet
of Chilean red,
I pretend
I’m drinking blood.

One long gulp
like the first class wanker
I am.

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