A Pear

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


absorbed into the blood,


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.


  1. about time someone wrote a poem about the pear, apples and oranges are getting too much attention in my book.

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