If I Were a Ghost

By Vincent R. Pozon

If I were a ghost, I would not be ghostly
I will walk into what bothered and into your days,
announce my entry conspicuously,
with heft and girth and the daggers of years.

Not like a slender shadow on tiptoe,
spooked by the living, merely lining dreams,
I might, when passing, plant a foot wrong,
stumble into lamps and the formerly loved.

If I were a ghost, you will see frown and
paunch, opaque, you will see worry,
no -- not worry, you will hear displeasure,
moans moaned for the pitiable poor.

I intend to stand, bloodied head in hands,
frighten legislators out of office,
shock the color out of their toupees,
rock the boat harder than the living can.

If I were a ghost, I would be the tyrant
you need, and then I'd die, but this time
after carcasses abound, with an askant brow
and the cackle of the satisfied.