Writing Place 2021

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No shoes

by Ric Webster

 

You swelled with giggles
At ridiculous Ric
Who’d tumbled into Rav4
With less than his usual
Lesser –

Sensory perception
Shoeless and without a clue,

All fog, nary any cog
He snickered and looked
Up from a lamentable state
But who cries anymore.

Who gives a jot or a shit
Or a shoe to such diseases
That displace? All he knows
Is that your face is precious
With giggles he for better or
For worse inspired.

He knows your soul aches with
His, for this disease spares no one –
Even those walking along side
Its aim is wide, it kills the palpable
As though ephemeral, curses the criminals as surely as the innocent
Curses you to spend the rest of your days

Wondering when he’ll
Begin to fade.

When he’ll forget.

More than shoes, maybe his pants,
Maybe how to rise from the tub
Like a man. Maybe he’ll even forsake you,

No.

Our love is a lair from which we’ll never (want to) escape and our laughter is the fire-

 

Breathing dragon, keeping us lit.

 

About Ric Webster

“I have been writing for myself for nearly four decades. Now, I feel an urge to write to reach out to others.”

 

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