My wife says we can walk the grounds if I want,
but I can tell her feet are sore.
We stay near the two fountains
and walk the main grounds.
It is so beautiful,
even though the hedges and trees
are not so lush out of season.
Look at that, I say.
That fountain must have a hundred bathing birds in it
and that other bird has a whole fountain to himself.
I like that bird, I say.
Get a picture!
Of the bird?
she asks.
The bird and the fountain,
I say.
Then we walk the far hedges.
It begins to rain and everyone turns to head back inside.
On the way in, we pass three women:
one mother and two daughters.
American.
Did you see that picture of Neopolitan by the door?
the one daughter asks.
He was the King of France.
Did he come in three flavours?
I ask my wife.
She shushes me as we rush by.
The other daughter starts talking about how
oxygen is bad for you because of GMOs.
My head hurts!
my wife admits.
History for the insane,
I say.
She tries to get wifi
so we can catch an Uber back
into the city,
but keeps losing the signal.
We finally order one
and are looking for a black car,
plate number ## ####.
A car slows down and turns around a few times.
It is the wrong type of car with different plates.
It begins to rain harder and my wife just walks up
to ask him.
He claims to speak very little English,
but is looking for Shona.
That’s me, she says,
but this is not you.
He waves for us to get in anyways
so we do.
Buckling up for the coming maelstrom.
On our way back into Paris.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly,The Rye Whiskey Review, Outlaw Poetry Network, Under The Bleachers, The Dope Fiend Daily and In Between Hangovers.
Also be sure to check out Ryan's newest book from Whiskey City Press.
Gluttony in this Desert of Fools.
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