Skanks in Spanx by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Skanks in Spanx

She said Harmony was coming over
and I moaned because I remembered Harmony
and could not take any more of that one love feel good
far east bullshit.

As though the Silk Road ran right through
my living room into someone else’s
pants.

If I see another chick painted up in henna
I’m gonna start throwing chicken feet at them
in the good name of Voodoo,
I said.

Where the hell are you going to get chicken feet?
she asked.

From chickens!
I yelled.

She laughed as I began searching out a knife
from the kitchen.

Why don’t we have any good knives?
I shouted
holding up a dirty butter knife
from the sink.

Just then Harmony and two new ones walked in.
No one had henna drawn on their arms.
But they were all unnaturally thin.
Like bank vaults holding everything in.
Skanks in spanks.
Most obvious.

Harmony told my woman they needed the stuff fast.
There were a couple guys waiting for them
and the car was still running.

She gave them the stuff
and they were on their
way.

Ryan Quinn FlanaganRyan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian born author presently residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario Canada. His work has been published both in print and online in such places as The New York Quarterly, Windsor Review, Vallum, The Antigonish Review, CV2, Horror Sleaze Trash, Evergreen Review, Your One Phone Call and In Between Hangovers.

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