S.P. Flannery
S.P. Flannery was born in La Crosse, Wisconsin, and now resides in Madison. His poetry has appeared in Random Acts of Writing, The Alembic, Calliope Nerve, The Blotter and Leaf Garden.

Three Poems (Issue 15)

Three Poems (March 20 2010. Issue 15. The DirtyDirty.)

Social Species

Not finding acceptance
or any popular notice,
Mary took a whiskey bottle,
after unburdening the contents
and removing the constraint
of tight jeans and panties,
and slid it into her vagina
during an after-hours party,
two firsts killed with one moan
when the call lured
beer-bowelled stares
to this freshman girl
lost in rapt pleasure
with a glass dildo that sucked,
leaving only a vacuum,
an absence not easily removed
she will soon find out
as the stretcher bares her
with blood besmirched white sheets,
to an emergency room
accompanied by belched laughter
and pointed index fingers,
but she releases a smile
because she saw there
what she wanted to see,
attention from the flock.


Instead of sex
my wife wants
her back scratched
along the spine,
between shoulder blades
tense from work-day
stress, back and forth,
from side-to-side,
especially the chaffed
hips itchy from dry
winter weather,
my nails etch red
marks across white
skin, the same shade
as her blushed cheeks,
closed eyelids, and
lips parted where moans,
soft, allegro,
grow, crescendo
into loud grunt-wails
as I increase the
velocity, speed of
friction between
keratin and epidermis,
she falls asleep after
I finish, she finishes,
and I am awake
to watch her breath.


Two girls left when
their parents slipped into
vodka sleep, weighted
with sausage and cabbage soup.
A full moon lit the trail
to the concrete bus stop
adorned with a mythic mosaic;
one traces the outline
of a lost maid
in the deep woods,
the other laughs at the
old woman and her mortar
and stone hard pestle.
They play in the light
cast by a single bulb,
where flushed skin shows
through thin night shirts
hiding boyish forms
of long nymph-like hair,
they entrap his wavering gaze,
a man eluding his wife.
He longs for the time
when he need not hide
from her rock hard stare,
deep in a stolen bottle.

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Rainbow Cichlids (April 9, 2009. New Pink Moon. Issue 3)

With the loss of predators,
the female attacks the male.
Stored aggression released
against the mate,
solitary visual stimulus
that activates instinct,
the eggs on the substrate
aren't in direct danger,
but the male cannot hide
from blind determination,
his fins are torn
and the scales are worn pale
to frightful exhaustion
as her counter-shading darkens,
quickens without the quivering
to subdue this aggression.
The male dies, floats lifeless
while the female guards
the brood from reflections.

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