The Visitor

A hint of cheap cologne wafted
along my bony spine,
bare feet mating with a
creaky, hardwood floor -

informed me
that I was not alone.

You wore a smug grin
upon your coffee stained chin,
and for my amusement
I laughed at the whiskery, dead expression
upon your face.

It was early for breakfast
and far too late for a midnight snack.

I buried my face within Columbia,
wrote a poem,
while you chatted about the past.

It's going to take some time for me to understand
the meaning of your presence-

(Is it normal for ghosts to visit before 7 am ?)