The Talkers 


 
The talkers next door never stop. 
Like those many toothy sharks 
of perpetual motion. 
 
Their frivolous nicotine hours 
spilling through the back sliding door 
on the barreling gossip surf. 
 
Bunches of milkweed strangling out  
the ailing fence line. 
 
A chain-smoking mother and daughter team. 
No wonder this constant noise then. 
 
If they stop, 
they die.

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Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Picture Mel Bochner 

 

 

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