Thursday, May 18, 2006

 

Not Ready to Give Up the Ghost

A new ghost has settled into my home. His baudy jokes and barroom joviality are haunting me. His laughter is that of a pirate's, with a Har Har Har. His accent is like WC Fields. He checks out the dames and he drinks plenty of scotch. Pointing to the bed, he'll remind you that's a great place to pork yer old lady. He's prone to calling the shots as he sees 'em, even when they aint the best of words. He's ready to shoot his gun, both barrels blazing. He'll lift you up just to bring you right back down. He's already in my heart, and he's trying to tear me apart.

I've heard him the most when guests arrive. He joins in on conversations and I'll answer him, hoping that each word syncs up with whatever anyone else is talking about. Its not too bad, in fact, most of my friends think nothing of what I say.

He sits right down and asks for a beer.

Give it to me in that icy cold stein, hog!
he calls out as I tip toe into the kitchen, pretending not to hear him. I make casual conversation with my guests, as the ghost looks at me incredulously.

HOG! I was talking with you, my man!
he shouts at me, and only I can hear him. I have to smile as he does this, so as to not give away his intrusions. I'm right here in front of you! Don't you hear me?


Oh, why wont you let me be? When will you join the souls who have gone before you? Must you continue to haunt me?

Again, he laughs and points his fingers out to me.

This too shall pass, he reminds me, for nothing shall not.

posted by Hog 4:55 PM