Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Trojan Horse

A blonde is wheeled up to my door
and I am too drunk
to turn her away.
She is beautifully constructed
and her legs seem to carry on
forever.
I bring her inside
and admire her
as I sing and dance
and toast my good fortune.
All is well
and I think she likes me,
when
suddenly,
two battalions of pointy-fingered feminists
a legion of angry lesbians
a four-star father
three divisions of divorce lawyers
and a squadron of jealous ex boyfriends
all jump out
and hack my drunk ass
to pieces.

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