Ghost Ride the Crib
Ghosts began to peek at me from around corners. First it was Coggs holding a pot pipe circa 2004 and then it was Chief at the back door, coming in for more chili. I packed boxes and burned furniture. I was ending my own world war, but who’s keeping score? Some of the ghosts were fucking with my head and I decided not to do any work on the house that required a ladder today. Hooray. Solo ladders in the basement or garage always look like an officiation in motion and the same stepping tools against spouting look like a paralyzation to come. God helped me stay grounded. Ghosts came in family’s faces around a birthday cake; all smiling and singing something to candles out of tune and ready to be blown out… even the smell was near. My son’s ‘family’ sculpture is sill on the wall and will probably be the last thing that gets packed on my way outta here- onto the new life and new family; the clean slate I’m going to put m’life upon… this preposition ends the phrase perfectly…at least there’s some sort of perfection in this paragraph, because three sentences ago it seemed like a ransom note. I’m taking my head off this chopping block, handing off the keys to this country shack. Some of this shit is heavy. It’s heavier than brick or blocks or concrete rakes in race.
A favorite song came on out of nowhere:
“We kissed so hard when we were fucking I tasted blood; it was some sort of wrestling match but we were both winning: legs locked up and the tongues tied: It would have been fine if I just died: Right then: with you; My baby blue, I’m into You.”
Back in reality, roommate angel came in and said something stupid. He always does. I make fun of his life and he shrugs at mine: it’s a good time. We never whisper when telling secrets, we blurt them out under stars powered by moon beams-moon beam demons in season! If we were gay we’d probably stay here forever…lord knows the neighbors thinks we’re fags… it’s their words huddled under the diesel drags.
I’m making the same soup I did last night- beans and sage go good at any age. I should know; I’m dipping my toe into elder and others…new places and spaces. Good night for the time now you giggle ghosts, tickle in me the folk hole.
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