Beach Week

I.

I am a ghost, drifting unseen through gray halls.

Maybe I died that day, like I thought.

But I stayed to haunt these spaces.

Mine is the melancholy of the dead,

Full of the hopeless

Of nowhere to go,

Nothing to do.

You named me your ancient friend

And called me your life’s love.

And I shared your longing

And I let myself dream.

But the dreams of the dead go unheard

By the god who’s meant to hear them.

I am the blur in the shadows,

The man with the mandolin.

I sing my songs to rooms with no ears.

And no eyes bear witness.

II.

My mouth tastes of smoke, even now.

My throat hurts, and my head

And I wonder if all the choices from last night were good ones.

They felt good at the time.

But then paranoia sets in.

Does anyone know? Did anyone

See the parts of me I try to hide

Behind jokes and smiles

Behind a cool manner and a drunken dance?

I am nonchalant

Or think I am.

But did anyone notice

My eyes linger too long,

My hand grasp at the air,

My heart reach out from my chest

To be drawn back in when I think

Someone is watching?

Daylight Savings Time arrived while I slept.

Sneaky bastard.

He stole an hour from me.

Or maybe

I was living on borrowed time.

And he merely reclaimed what was his.