Bite That Ghost

Bite that ghost.

She’s cold.
Potato Salad Cold.
Popsicle Cold, at least as far
as headache induction goes…

It’s a lie that if you walk toward one
you will just pass through.
A little will cling to your face,
get in your teeth,

it’ll hurt.  So you might as well
approach with gusto
and an open mouth —

you can laugh or scream
so long as your choppers
gape wide. 

Get the rags on your gums.
Get the threads down in there
tight as floss.  She’s cold
and you’re going to regret it
and love it —

memories, flavor,
you can’t stop shivering,
chattering, clutching your chest,
seize your head and call out

what might be her name.