Poem -

The Ghost Of 38b

The Ghost Of 38b

You can not touch me, I am but transitory,
ask me, I hear you - the answer may be a mystery;
I miss Earthly pursuits - cheesecake and making love, 
no longer really possible since I've been above.

Also the arguments - we have nothing like that,
everything's serene, no 'mean' - we know where it's at, 
we know before it's said, we're not really dead,
in fact, there's more than you ever wanted.

I learned to swim - how on Earth  ( or rather heaven ),
could a spirit do that? Simples - my friend the cat
was in St, Michael's pool doing the backstroke, like that,
so alongside, holding paws, no devils on my shoulders sat.

You hear my footsteps but I'm not really there,
regain some magic, I'm pretending to drink a beer.

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