ryan quinn flanagan | climb the ladder

Climb the Ladder

I climb the ladder,
all the way to the top,
and look down on all
the others.


And they strain their eyes
to look up at me
saying:
sir, sir,
what are you doing
pulling down your pants
like that,
sir, sir, sir?


And then I let it come,
washing over all of them,
a red wine-darkened
squid ink
sludge.


Like something shot
out of the spout
of a whale.


Then I decide to climb
back down the ladder,
sans pants,
right down to the
bottom.


Where I sit
without wiping,
drying crusty
in the fading dog drip
sun.

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