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a poem by David McLean (1 of 2)

a gray ghost

a gray ghost, a child
and the house he lived in,
1970's black and white
with a static transistor
singing to him,
so each song told of evolution,
revolution, and absences

there were blind walls
and spider hair, walls
where love was a cobweb
collecting dust-balls, nights dying
like decay was going out of style
and we might have liked to be alive;
it was a gray ghost,
a child,
forgotten like time.

he saw a broken refrigerator full of dead
and beautiful things, still singing,
all of this living history
became a scarred skin, a ghost
cold, a lonely cloud,
whole worlds asleep

© by David McLean
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #12 ~ November 2010    next poem