Photo by John Richards
The ghost in the closet
He had learned from his
Ancestors. Bohemian-like today,
Dressed in holiday finery: spats, cravat
And beret, he waited.
He gathered ungrounded concerns round his chair.
Sat preening each, plucking
To a sharp point,calmly, every jibe manicured.
No reason to press his case too soon.
His victim’s frame of mind,
The strongest tool he had
kept in wait.
He cleaned his nails,
Glossed his teeth, Brylcreemed his hair,
Till the whirlwind of fear
Spun off sparks of panic
Penetrating the door.
Antique watch, it’s dial and fob,
Clicking open and shut, again and again
Exchanging one echo of fear for another,
Guarantee — no drug or palliative would dispel
The Angst of uncertainty, of unknowing,
He took a brief nap, content he’d done his job.