haunt me?

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

water myself.

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),