Summertime (Poem)

Nicola Smyth’s first poem for The Gown. Photo Source: Scroll. In

Nicola Smyth, Contributor.

Wow. The ability gone and without a trace. No

Fancy words, & nepotism.

All the hands touching,

copper coins and tin,

Missing and caved in.

All the injuries left.

 

Sun light pouring into the empty room,

Dust covered empty spaces in between

Two hard office seats, tv desks and

A premature tension, came so soon.

All without cause.

The homesick blues.

 

I’m being deafened by silence,

Aching head splitting white noise.

The warmth from that strip of light

Caresses my cheek.

It smiles coyly, before taking it away.

Sunset will have to wait.