The Ghost Club

It's THE GHOST CLUB you hardly know when you're dead it's just a different kind of alive I hang around my old shed touch & not touch my rusting tools some of the other ghosts hang out at the bandstand but only when it rains we call ourselves THE GHOST CLUB chat 'bout this 'n' that that 'n' this you know the little things that make a life we keep in touch with the living shadowing them pretending to be their shadow hidden in a sudden slant of sun on an evening we shout and shout but our words are invisible it's like living in a parallel dimension living inside a snow dome when it's turned up side down the fake snow falling mimicking the real snow falling gently now outside I'd love to cry but I've forgotten how and I don't know if it's allowed it's a life of sorts somehow I get by (I miss my boy) bye...bye...bye