Spit Bucket by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

She spit into his mouth
and he was pretty sure he had hepatitis
or worse.

The torn fishnets, the broken
fidgety gibberish.

A needle still hanging out her arm
from past indiscretions.

All because his drunk friend had
made a comment about deep sea fishing.

And now he was down on his knees
choking over the curbside.

Beside a rusted brown sewer grate
with a used condom draped
over it.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan Black & White

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a happily unmarried proud father of none. His work can be found both in print and online. He has an affinity for dragonflies, discount tequila, and all things sarcastic.

 

 

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