Oblivious

In her business suit, in a bar
down near Wall St., about eight
o’clock on a Wednesday night,
bartender hands her the phone,
she talks into the receiver,
obviously speaking to a child:
Honey, I am coming home. Yes.
Soon. Yes honey, I promise.
She hands the receiver back
to the bartender. As he takes
it, she rolls her eyes, as if
acknowledging they are
comrades, two people who
understand the fight, how
hard it is when others want
something different than
your cause. Smiling now,
she shakes the tumbler in
her hand and orders another
drink, oblivious once again
to all but the ice cubes
at the bottom of her glass

Michael Flanagan was born in the Bronx, N.Y. Poems and stories of his have appeared in many small press periodicals across the country. His chapbook, A Million Years Gone, is available from Nerve Cowboy’s Liquid Paper Press. The poem, “Oblivious”, which appears in this issue of Trailer Park Quarterly, originally appeared in the chapbook mentioned above.