Ricardo and Isabel Nirenberg since 1998
Three Poems by G.B. Ryan
A thin agile man in his late twenties
confronted four men in their late thirties,
all beefy guys used to physical work,
one of them superintendent of a house
across the street.
They may have objected to his chaining
his bike to the rail outside the building.
The superintendent advanced upon him
and the thin agile man jumped in the air
and with the toe of his right shoe firmly
tapped the big superintendent in the chest
and landed in good balance on his feet
as the heavyset man hit the asphalt
on his back like a feather dropped by wind.
The big man sat up and watched the thin man
unlock his bicycle and ride away.
The other three could easily have rushed
him and presumably overcome him.
They did not move.
I think we all felt a small tap in the
On a bench high above
the East River, folded
jacket and pants, white shirt,
watch and wallet on top,
black shoes placed to one side.
No sign of any note.
I look down at water,
coiling and fast moving.
A man behind a tree
adjusts his camera.
His smirk appears to ask:
what would you have done if
you had not noticed me?
A Seven-Eleven store
kept open around the clock
heard complaints from customers
of youths lingering outside.
Bright lights did not repel them.
One man claimed he knew what would.
Play Mozart very softly
nonstop on outside speakers
and no self-respecting dude
will be caught dead for a mile.
G.B. Ryan was born in Ireland and graduated from University College Dublin. He is a ghostwriter in New York City. Elkhound published his Surprised by Gulls in May 2015.
This is his first time in Offcourse