The Ghost Upstairs

The guy
doesn’t bother
taking the cover
off his unregistered car
to move it ten feet
down the curb. Didn’t hit
the neighbors’ car which is 
kind of a pity as that might have been
the last straw, 
last act in the ghost play — 
he’s been a squatting ghost
for far more than a year now;
lots of banging, lots of
dragging heavy things,
lots of late night
visitors, lots of doors
left open, not just unlocked,
wide open at all hours. 
Was supposed
to have moved at the end of last month
but something
went wrong with that
as has been the case
for the last three years between
the ‘vid
and the eviction moratorium.
Between compassion for him and 
agony for the rest of us. No, 
I don’t know or particularly care about
where he’s supposed to go.
Fatigue has put a cover over
my compassion. No,
I surely don’t know
where we were supposed to go
or what we’re supposed to have done.
Anger has torn the cover 
from my tolerance. 
All I know is the rest of us
are dog’s-old-bone tired
of living with the ghost
and if we don’t get some rest soon
someone’s going to
rip that cover off his car
and have it towed
straight to Hell while he 
chases it all the way down.

About Tony Brown

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

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