Ghost Poem

Ghost Poem

Hey, I’m Cody, I used to write a lot of poetry when I was younger, now I think of ideas for stories but never start them, and then have stress nightmares about my potential.

I don’t really have a poem, even though I promised Rowan I would pul one together by tonight, so I’m just gonna share some thoughts I’ve had recently about ghosts and hope it sounds intentionally poetic.

Do ghosts need to go to the bathroom? If they do, do they wait in the stall until everyone leaves, because they’re shy and don’t want us to hear them pee?

We imagine ghosts being stuck haunting where they died. But what if that’s only a handful of sentimental ghosts? Maybe the vast majority is like us, moving around, signing leases, complaining about how high the rent prices are thanks to all the dead techies.

What’s it like for a ghost trying to move? If a house has been haunted before, does it lower the value because the living are suspicious? We say dogs and cats can see ghosts, so if they’re in an apartment is the rent cheaper, since the constant barking at you is kinda off putting?

Since ghosts can’t use computers, maybe an apartment’s selling point is the twelve year old kid who watches funny youtube videos all night. Maybe we’re just the entertainment.

Psychics and mediums are great and all, but what if the real ones make a living as ghost uber drivers? Is there a market for jobs that help ghosts get by day to day? Specialized supernatural flight attendants, baristas, grocery store clerks?

Maybe nighttime is so cold because that’s when all the ghosts are out.

Do ghosts still find comfort in their old hobbies? Are there ghostly museums full of words of art, otherworldly origami? Do ghost museums charge admission, or are they free to the public? Do ghosts put science before art?

Maybe ghosts need to eat. You know when you’re living with someone and even though they swear they aren’t eating any of your food, every time you go to get a bowl of cocoa puffs, there’s none left? Maybe there’s a ghost stuffing it’s face with haunted cereal laughing as you and your roommate fight. Maybe you’re it’s Saturday morning cartoons.