A
Pear
Bamboo-tinged
light purifies
a
pear
on
a napkin
on
a little blond table.
Plump,
ripe, and juicy,
The
bell-bottomed fruit in the palm of your hand.
Then
teeth tear
into
splotchy skin
and
foamy flesh swishes
and
melts
down
your throat in
joy,
absorbed
into the blood,
fast,
fully
inebriating.
But
it wasn’t, you know, just the pear,
the
so and so silly old pear.
It
was the pear
that
day
and
everything else there.
Chris Callard
Chris Callard lives in Long Beach, CA. His
poems have appeared in Cadence Collective and One Sentence Poems, his short
fiction in Gemini Magazine, Flash Fiction Magazine, A Story in 100 Words, and
ZZyZxWriterZ. His flash fiction story “Blood Drive” was nominated for The Best
Small Fictions.
Tags:
Poetry
about time someone wrote a poem about the pear, apples and oranges are getting too much attention in my book.
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