By John Sangster

This the
Flat-ass truth.  Cruisin’ down
Flatbush when Boom!
Flat tire.  Gets out, hears music---third-floor
Flat.  Climbs stairs.  These cats
Flat-out jammin’.  Smoky in there.
Flatulence, too, but they groovin’ on
Flat Foot Floogie With a Floy Floy.  Bebop with the
Flatted Fifth.  That the
Flat-ass truth.

Flat Poem was previously published in Urban Spaghetti Literary Arts Journal in 1999.

©2008 John Sangster

Posted in Current, Poetry |