SICK LIT MAGAZINE

She appeared as an anemic ghost,

tapered A-frame dress with horizontal

black-and-white stripes, which threw off her frame

quite a bit. It was an appropriate fit

for her.

 

The neighborhood boys waited at the curb

in an old gray Chevy, hungry for details with what I’d do

with her

once I fumbled

with my right hand to stick the key in the lock.

Little did they know that what mattered was what she planned

to do to me, stooping down into the dirt,

lifting her dress

so that the horizontal stripes turned themselves up

toward the sky.

 

She mumbled the entire time, biting her bottom lip

every tenth word or so and pointed to a gift

that she’d left on the patio table.

I was afraid to touch it.

 

The plastic bag of groceries in my left hand needed a bit

of attention but no one offered

to help. They never do.

 

The house had been shut up

for three weeks and needed open windows.

That’s one of the things ghosts can do – suck

out the air in a room, leaving it empty

like an old nun’s womb.

It was fit for prayer

and pondering.

John Dorroh (JD) attempted to teach high school science for more years than he cares to admit, and maybe some of the lab chemicals affected his brain? He likes to travel, cook, bike, write, and play yard games. To his credit there is a book of micro-fiction (“99 Words”), about 30 science diddies (who reads those, right?), and a sprinkling of poems in Dime Show Review, Walk Write-Up, Haiku Journal, and Poetry Breakfast.