Let Us Have Back Our Annual Prize! Poem by Mark Heathcote

Bedraggled skies - I'm sick and tired
Of your subterranean dark eyes,
You're like the lover who feels undesired.
Put-on silk gowns - show me some thighs.

For the ladies put-out a masculine chest
With white cotton clouds loosely vest.
And for me show evenings scarlet-red
With her on a bed - arms outspread.

But for god sake give our blurry eyes
Some heavenly skies - lest we all go mad
Let us have back our annual prize!
Lager-laden gardens sunburns-unclad.