his name was joe
he held open the door for me…
Ghosts
“I’m getting a signal from someone close to you.”
“Who is it? One of my grandparents?”
If ghosts are real,
I hope they’re every bit as judgmental,
of our corporeal selves…
so, heads up,
if you cry,
it releases the ghosts
that were holding…
It’s just chasing ghosts,
They’re not real, and never were…
Trailing behind us,
Like ghosts not yet fully formed…
I stopped for a hitchhiker
because, hey, if that were me,
I’d want a normal person
to let me catch a break
Do you hear that?
The helmet is groaning again
Joe, calling the local ghosts
helmets is the worst pun
In cold winter nights,
They push gently at our feet…
I was walking down,
Along old street, back in town…
Daily Poets 