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