So lonesome a ghost I’d be,
presuming I ever dared to haunt you at all;
none of your grand ghosts to brag of,
just a chill in the back hall.
I couldn’t walk through the furniture,
or frighten the cat into fits.
How could I manage to scare you?
I am the type who sits
somewhere in the attic or cellar,
close by the plumbing for heat,
crying a little for being left out,
while you, in your favorite seat,
mumble that you really must call the plumber
and tell him of the annoying leak
that stops and starts all the time –
and seems to get worse when you speak.
Kathleen Griffin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/reflections-31/
