FLAT

A desert. The surface of my desk. A pancake.

A plate. A sheet of paper. A wall.

Chile con carne sin chiles.

Wonder Bread.

The smell of water in a glass and bean sprouts, too.

Old Monsignor McGarr’s Sunday sermons.

The word flat.

Tender new grass beneath a boot.

The ears of a mad cat.

What I feel when I don’t want to feel,

but great if it’s my tummy or a crepe.

The earth was flat…until it was round.

There is no flat in

rushing water

a beating heart

bee’s wings

a candle flame

a tear

a laugh.

This wee poem was the outcome of a Tuesday Word Prompt in my writing group, the Santiago Writers.

See our blog at:   http://www.thetuesdayprompt.com/