Best Poems Written by Thomas Cullen

Drop

The Drop								

I am on the white bright bed’s edge
hanging on for dear life, in a dream 
just before sunrise, where it is a ledge
above 5th Avenue.  Fingers gripping the seam 

of the sheet, while raindrops weaken my hold
drops so very cold, my fingers freeze, turn blue
growing numb, letting go. It is so cold
Pray there is snow below us to break, or a crew

to catch us before we break on the concrete
below.  Cold fingers lose their grip
and I plummet quick to the street
face down, cheeks rippling - just a drip

of rain slides down my collar, it makes my
edges all cold, I pull the blankets tight and sigh. 

T. A. Cullen

Copyright © Thomas Cullen | Year Posted 2020