Downpour
The class was over three men remained
chewing words and rummaging
through syntax I sat youngest of the three
as they spoke of gratitude flooding faces
I’ve made it to seventy everything else is a bonus
I digested these words chopped sausage
and tomato sauce ate them his feather lite words
soaking heavy like lead rain vision blurry
Like glasses broken left arm tight and sluggish
as if sodden on one side wet chill with tingles of death
I write because I have to not to get published
drenched by his first words everything else
Is a bonus the slow drip into a half filled tank
that patter wouldn’t fill my years my land
was cracked and broken thirty five years he’s
drenched by a day and I’m a puddle in sun
About the Author: Z. D. Dicks is the author of Malcontent (Black Eye Publishing) described as ‘Uncompromising, sometimes controversial, but always entertaining’ by Clive Oseman and ‘Evocative, atmospheric, breathing new life into the everyday’ by Nicola Harrison. Z. Dicks is the CEO of Gloucestershire Poetry Society and Gloucester Poetry Festival. His work has been accepted by Ink, Sweat and Tears, Three Drops from a Cauldron and Fresh Air Poetry. He frequently reads at poetry events throughout the UK.
Image Credit: Louis-Antoine Froissart “A Flood in Lyon” (1856) Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.
As It Ought To Be 