And now your ghost is starting to

look like an insurance salesman,

all slick and shiny with big new ideas;

I can’t keep listening to it forever.

It used to keep me company but now

it’s driving me crazy.

It’s growing so unlike you;

your ghost wears plaid suits and white

patent leather shoes and sits by me

on the porch and tells me about the

time it drove to California and back

and how I would’ve liked to have gone too

because California’s all different now;

and the cars roll by and don’t see us,

and the wind moves the leaves in the trees,

and your ghost sits here and tells me

about his Thunderbird and the

girls he met along the way.

by Cher Bibler