The Ghost's Tale

by Jerry Ratch


Don't worry, she said

It's not blonde down there

But she is wrong

It's just as blonde down there

As anywhere


The light down along her arms

For instance

The down along her cheek

On the back of her neck

Her thighs


Apparently I am nothing but

Whispers, air

The hairs barely stir

When what's left

Brushes past


Apparently I am nothing

But whispers and air


Maybe a faint

Blonde hair on her arm