Writer: Thomas Heath
The following poem is written by Thomas Heath, one of our Twitter Competition Winners!
Cold pint, mental pictures; sweating sat in sun.
Rare thing, syrup amber in a cool, lit glass,
empty purse and pockets.
Thick froth, bubbling topside on a sunlit bench.
White foam under dark wood in the sundown shade,
underneath the summer.
Spheres ballooning upwards to a sun-wrecked head,
hand grasps wet glass, dirty glass, pours over rim
lapping onto lips edge.
Sunset is a cadence that frames a damp view
skylight view, a blue paint view, a blending brush
soaked deep through fissured soil.
Suspending the elevated clouds,
and the blunt, honest words,
this tiny moment in an imperfect day
and the oncoming rain.