There’s a ghost that follows me
on my way home from work
on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.
He thinks he’s clever the way
he hides beneath the grimy
bedsheet and walks about
in those worn out boots
he owned when he
(actually) roamed the Earth.
As I walked home on Thursday,
a late night chill graced the air,
and I turned the corner only to find
my little friend standing underneath
the dew-drop shaped street lamp.
The wind kicked up and ripped the
sheet from his ghostly figure,
but to my surprise,
the ghost was gone,
leaving nothing behind but
his little boots.