Standing there,
alone and surrounded,
with the slosh of tea
sounding loud above the music
he wonders
if really, those ghosts
in the glass
with the headlights
shining through them
are people
and it is those
on this warm side
of the pane who
are the ghosts
standing, alone
he felt himself
without substance
giving the lie
to a full belly
looking up,
staring into hollow eyes
frozen to be noticed
he stops breathing
he, the ghost, blinked first.
10 March 2010
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The last stanza and the last line... wow! I love this.
ReplyDeleteThere is nothing more eerie than the slosh of tea on a dark, creepy night. Especially when you're not drinking tea.
ReplyDeletereminds me of my favorite Counting Crows song, Round Here...something about ghosts, windows, fog....it is such a powerful image and then, that last line...mmmmmmm perfect punch IG!!
ReplyDeleteAhh yes Irish.
ReplyDeleteTwo many times have I been the ghost and yet I still cast a shadow.
I scare myself sometimes.
I think there are days when I question my own substance.
ReplyDeleteGreat poem. Is it published? (it should be)
ReplyDelete