Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry


We phoned in sick that day,
When no-one knew we were together,
And drove west, work erased from our lives,
Out to a place full of old cars, and
Argued about how to pronounce it.
The sun shone all day, we laughed
All day, and it seemed an endless
Paradise then, that time we forgot
All about the past and the future,
And the present was a gift.

R 24/01/2023 09:26

The #MastoPrompt today was #erase.

And it’s a true story, actually, from when M and I first got together. You’ll have to guess the place. She’ll probably read this and tell me it rained all day. I don’t think we took any pictures. But those words are better than pics. Always will be.

I bumped into A again today. We chatted for 5 minutes. He could tell I was in a hurry, and he was hoovering out his old car. Still managed to fit a lot in, like what a load of bollocks it is that old people supposedly need less sleep, because we both seem to need more, how he’s a July baby and me a June baby and we hate the damn short days, and how getting up in the dark is a real problem, and how the damp cold is miserable as fuck – take these all as quote unquotes from both of us. And how before we know it it’ll be light in the evenings, and then – neither of us verbalised the inevitable downhill curve our minds set themselves off at that point, which was also the point at which we parted company, him to the boot of his car, and me pulling on my gloves with another 40 45ths of my walk to go.

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