Now this IS bizarre; the two characters in this piece completely switched positions in the writing of this poem... weird, huh?! :)) K xx

GHOST WRITER


He sits opposite me,
leaning back from the desk
and into the chair;
elbows resting,
hands pressed prayer-like
lightly together,
touching only at spread finger-tips,
lightly brushing against his lips
back and forth, up and down.

With his long legs spread in tight jeans,
one foot is raised and resting lightly
across the other knee.

He stares right through me
and into vacant space,
lost in thought,
saying nothing.

Suddenly he lurches forward,
picks up a slowly burning cigarette,
and squinting takes a long, hard drag.

Leaning back again,
he picks up a piece of paper
and reads,
resting his head on his fingers
while the cigarette burns
in between.

It’s a while before he softly
exhales his thoughts
with the spent smoke from
his lungs.

By that time,
I have written down
everything
and the dissipating rings
are merely whispered question marks
asking: “Did you get that?”

“But of course”
my silence replies.