Crowded with Ghosts

He retreated to the basement of that big ol’ house,

after his mother died in an upstairs bedroom back in ’68.

Left everything in the place as it was the day she died.

Dirty dishes in the sink,

towels ready by the shower,

he left it all.

He’s been livin’ down in that basement  for nearly 45 years.

I see him every once in a while,

pickin’ tomatoes from amongst the weeds,

roastin’ a rabbit over some branches he gathered from the woods behind the house.

He  seems to prefer to be left to himself.

I spoke to him once, about 20 years ago.

He said he had to move into the basement,

the rest of the house was “too crowded with ghosts”.


Leave a comment

Filed under Outlaw poetry, poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s