A Ghost Speaks To The TV

No reason behind me,
no reason in front of me;
no reason anywhere, really,

at least none I can sense so
I ghost it,
ghost the reason;
I ghost it
the way I ghosted you
the last time I saw
you in my mirror;

I turned off, left you wanting,
turned away and vanished
like a — well, like a ghost,
like a fairy tale
or a nightmare; like
an advertising slogan I’d grown
weary of hearing.

The TV
is full of them now — ads
for this medication, that food
additive, that junk science
promising neurological wonderment
and dissipation of brain fog — eh,
what do they know? I sit in one cloud daily
counting second by second,
counting then not counting
seconds, then minutes, until at last
it’s been an hour — Christ,
has it been that long?
Are you still here?

My ghost, my gal, my guy;
my unknown being, or perhaps nothing
of the sort. I turned away long ago,
after all. I don’t know why you are still here
but you are; I can’t look away.

Maybe I’m the ghost now. Maybe
I depend on you to watch commercials
for me and then vanish — you do it this time,
you disappear and take all of this with you —
I’m afraid of the mist around them
and of the puff of something like smoke
I can’t see but is always pulling me in
toward them. So,
take me away. I beg you:
close my eyes,
take me, take me away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T