Sunday evening in The Fleece​​

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Brushed amber flushes curving burnished brass,
glosses glasses and smooth chestnut; shallow
flames flicker in a peeling grate. We’re sparse
rustling doves nestled in corners below
cream & lilac swirls; warm muted banter
flutters our feathered crowns and a tawny
haired waitress leans idly on the counter,
taps texts, slides bored eyes over ebony
tables and hands clasped in publican prayer
round beading golden pints. We bow our heads
to the incomplete chequered grid, compare
small thoughts on its clued secrets, drain its dregs.
Night presses its face against the window,
cries condensation down the glass of our lives.

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By Rachael Hill

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Rachael is a Manchester Poet, founder of ‘The Space Poetic’, and an MFA student at The Manchester Writing School. Her work has recently been published by Ink Sweat and Tears, and Ver Poets, and she was awarded by Wirral Poetry Festival in 2024. She is a lover of cats and climbing.

 

SubStack: Poet Notes

IG: @rhillpoetnotes