For Halloween, a rare new poem (and illustration)!
The Weary Ghost
Keds scraping asphalt,
bedsheet dragging, stained and tattered.
Long night: some tricks, and
some treats, enough of both to fill a pillowcase;
Some scares, and
some redemptions.
Once fun, now work:
The drag of decades.
One night a year is all
this little ghost can take anymore.
So much blood...
So much blood...
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