Ghost Sonnets
Fred McMillan

GHOST FREE-VERSE #37
(THAT GHOST HAS GOT TO GO!!!)

There is a ghost.
He lives in my house.
And every time I try to make
a sandwich
he
terrifies me
with his ghoulish style.

Have you ever seen a ghost using the microwave?
I have.

The ghost
is always heating popcorn
or ravioli.

The other day
I say to myself,
"Fred. The only way to make this relationship work,
(speaking of that between my wife and myself)
is to confront this ghost."
Because the ghost
(I think)
has been creating conflict in our marriage.

Linda,
(my wife)
says,
"Fred. You left a dirty plate in the sink."
I say,
"No, Linda. I didn't."
And she replies,
"Well, I guess a ghost did it, then."
How little she knows
how very right she is.

So,
as the clock strikes midnight,
I am waiting
in the kitchen
behind the trash can.
(which is next to the fridge)

In my hand,
a ghost revolver.
Ghost bullets,
loaded only minutes before
are resting in their chambers
like eggs in a carton.

And then,
the ghost.

He opens the screen door.
He swaggers in with his youthful arrogance.
A spirit at the height of his career
about to eat my pop-tarts.

The hand to the gun
The gun in the air
the hammer drops
and the ghost takes a bow
Exit stage left
Magnum Cum Laude

and the smoke rises from my barrel
as the ghost rises to the heavens.

GHOST SONNET 59

The ghost, he walks in silent steps tonight.
I wonder where he goes? Perhaps his game
is pool or jarts. Perhaps he knows no home.

I often stop when he drift by at night
I wonder what he thinks about at night.
Do you think he wants to play a game, yes?

Copyright � 1999 Fred McMillan
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"