Dent on an Old Hum

by Michael Martin

I entered a chateau.
It was my chateau.
A castle so big
one could never know
if they were alone or not.

I set the ghosts free.
I found a new way to wear my hat.
I shined old boots
and sat in sycamore

shade sucking the living day-
lights out of cigarettes, watching
those ghosts drift toward my palatial
gates waiting for them to turn around
and wave good-bye but then I remember
only the living do that.


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