I Get a Nose of Ghostly Solvent
His eyebrows move like piano keys
before he goes away.
The last step is missing.
I know when he hits.
His feet are a damp scrape.
A sledgehammer is picked up
and dropped, dull,
behind the chimney root.
An assembly of heavy metal
is out of tune against the acoustics.
A saw screams and kisses!
Saturdays can be quite haunted.
I get a nose of ghostly solvent.
He materializes at the basement door.
3 thoughts on "I Get a Nose of Ghostly Solvent"
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I’m not sure I completely understand, but the language in this poem is so compelling and mysterious. The imagery is outstanding. Love
“His feet are a damp scrape.”
Wonderful. The vivid images of some Saturday chore done in the basement that ends with the whiff of solvent. You are a master of the craft, a true delight to read.
This haunting is excellent…