Wasn’t it further
any flare?
Even rarer
became the shuteye of the starer.
His face averted,
lashing himself for the valedictory staccato
of his will-o’-the-wisp
looked set on the pleasurer.
Longer than an epimyth
had milled about the downslopes
the forthright wayfarer
to harbour his quixotic hope!
preened for his aright scoop the plunderer.
I, the hindsight
have come a long way
(globe-trotting with my Siamese, the second-guesser
who might have gone a bit too far)
we are travel-worn
are there any vacancies?
The janitor
(how peculiar, his name was Janus)
spoke with a forked tongue
“there’s only room for one
but you could double up”
as soon as we plunged
into our truckle bed
with a sinking feeling
we overheard
My room is full of ghosts
I checked with the administration
And they said it’s safe
(they always say that)
Nobody is here
But they don’t see what I see
They don’t see all my dead friends
Playing whist at the table near the window
And never winning
Nor do they see dad painstakingly tuning the radio to find
That sad political debate every night
Or the old lady (her name keeps eluding me)
Knitting quietly near the grey tv set
And definitely they don’t see her
Smiling so strange
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