Coffee by Tim Heron


by Tim Heron

He rolls off the sofa
Stumbles into the kitchen
The table’s a riot

Cigarette butts macerate
In yesterday’s drinks
He stares blankly
His stomach empty
His skin sweaty
In yesterday’s clothes

He swallows a cup
Of coffee
At the clock
Will tomorrow
Never come

Born in Belfast the year of the Chernobyl meltdown, I was raised on red wine and dusty books in France.
Since then I’ve been searching for myself and stumbling through life, at times amazed by beauty and symmetry, at times intrigued by the dark and profane.
I publish my poems on the following blog :