Photographer Unknown
There is something about a room
decorated
with wax flowers under glass
and portraits of stern ladies with lace collars
hanging from walls hiding behind faded wallpaper
and outfitted with chairs that aren’t
comfortable to sit in
and couches that are meant to be looked at
that makes me hunger for the days
when ghosts could haunt places
like dark cavernous bus stations on stormy nights
and the bus is going to be late, if it shows up at all
and long empty hallways at hotels where the elevator takes ages to reach the
floor they’ve been called too and it’s just you and that
lady with her face to the wall mumbling the time over and over again
waiting for it, will it show up you wonder.
It’s a shame
that with all of the places I could haunt
the only places I have to chose from
are already dead.
