The Bristol Poets Society (for Pete)

It is the golden hour.

The sun bestows its tipsy glow, its love of absolutely everyone.

Backs against the warm wall of the Arnolfini,

the drinkers on the cobbled quay

raise their faces to savour this benediction.

An evening wind ruffles the water, but the people remain calm.

Plastic cups of beer, a few quid left.

Pete says, “Let’s be poets.”

Rog says, “When shall we start?”

Pete says, “We need to experience things first.”

Rog nods.

They sit there for a while, watching the lengthening shadows.

Then Rog says, “Another pint?”

“Good idea,” says Pete. “Get one in before the sun goes down.”

– Roger Williams