November 22, 2004

David Beauchamp

By Tony Brown

This guy named David Beauchamp
used to host one or two ghosts at
every meal.

I watched him, sometimes, serving food
to an empty table.
I couldn’t tell exactly what
happened to the meal,
but it always
disappeared.

He drank
beer on Friday nights
with a poltergeist
at a local dive called Rosie’s.

He said once
of the spectres all around him that
they were lonely, he was lonely,
it worked out — and
what did it matter anyway
where you put your trust — in the dead
or living? Suppose, he said,
they’ve lied about being dead, the way
so many people do — suppose I’m already
dead? Would I even know?

Better, he said, to just give up
this fantasy of life
and move along. We don’t have a clue,
anyway, he said,
about what it means to be here, or there. Better to make peace:
come down on a Friday night and have
a beer or two or three,
and some small talk
in Rosie’s back room.

He put his head down on the table then.
He never saw me. I put my hand on his neck,
and held him, gently, until
we faded away.

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown
This entry was posted on Monday, November 22nd, 2004 at 10:56 pm and posted in uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

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