Ghosts

I want to tell people about the ghosts, but
who would believe me? The way they throw
jars off the fridge, push pans from the stove. Shut
UP, I yell. My sister says I should blow
smoke around the room, smudge sage or incense.
This is stressing me out. They criticize
pretty much my whole life, and yeah, I’m tense.
They complain about my non-sex life. Guys?
Stay out of my house, and my head. When you
were alive, were you a voyeur? This is
one thousand percent creepy. Damn, they’ve queued
up to watch, to talk about flunked tests, his
leftovers, her starting over. They say
I’ve lost my colors, and life is gone gray.