I don't believe in ghosts. But they believe in me.
I walk my life as any human was who was free.
I feel the crunch of dry leaves under my feet.
I take two lefts and a right. I turn around and then repeat.
There are drips overhead. That plumbing needs a fix.
Details enter my head. The ghosts enjoy their tricks.
Many footsteps surround me. I am not jostled at all.
At the hint of any contact, I would surely stumble, fall.
A door. Focus now. A door handle is before my hand.
I extend my arm and grip it. This entrance was pre-planned.
I walk over the doorway, across an ordinary mat.
A little bell rings overhead, and wakes a sleepy cat.
I stand, judging it. Do the ghosts have this one too?
I gather myself, walk forward. Many things I walk through.
This pocket contains many perils. I bring forth, unscathed, a watch.
It's ticking is uneven. The gears need check for any crack or notch.
I cannot have this. The lack of regularity drives me insane.
A figure (two?) agree that a faulty watch would be a shame.
Given four hours, they can fix it. I sit. I observe.
Carefully. Quietly. Waiting for any straight line to curve.
Is it done? I only ask when I know for certain it is, yes.
I apologise for my awkwardness, during the time I was watch-less.
I exhale. The ticks. My ticks. Not slow. Not quick.
My time. I turn. And walk. Job done. Tick tick.
I don't believe in ghosts. But they believe in me.
With a working watch in hand, I now walk a bit more lightly.
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https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2018/02/ghosts.html
