Like some people want a dog, I want a ghost.
Not a scary ghost,
throwing tables and chairs and knives,
but a friendly one-—think Casper.
My ghost would leave me little fridge notes,
*note to self: buy scrabble magnets*
reminding me to turn off the oven
unplug the kettle
water the plants
My ghost would tell me to have a nice day,
to be brave and resilient and to not take shit from anyone.
My ghost would be such a lovely feminist.
My ghost would have to listen to me talking to myself,
but then again,
am i talking to myself if I have a ghost listener?
One ghost audience member?
No “applause” sign necessary, ghosts don’t clap in a dimension we can understand, anyway.
Plus, to my ghost,
I am hilarious.
The way I describe my every action is thrilling.
My singing can cure ghost illness with a single note.
I want a ghost who would fold my laundry,
socks inside each other,
underwear in a pile (even ghosts don’t fold underwear),
shirts and pants folded to please Marie Kondo.
I want a nice ghost, a fun ghost.
So hey, if you’re a ghost out there reading this,
possibly over my shoulder,
would you haunt me?
Categories: October 20, 2020, sophie spencer, Uncategorized, water cooler