The Universe Is Flat Poem by Stephen Brian Brady

a pint of real ale

the Angel who'd been holding aloft a screen
beyond the furthest galaxies
or just about as far as man could dream
in the pub car-park

had rolled it up
and stood it against the wall

is that all it is
pinpricks of light

half a pint still in his glass
the Angel let pass
more tiresome questions about unfathomable things

just sat
framed by an arched window
making slight quivery movements with his wings