Finding his grave this fast feels very strange.
I had been looking forward to browsing
an array of other headstones to see
who he has for neighbors, and for how long
in the ground, and why so young, or how old.
What? It’s him! Standing in the pale blue light,
there, next to that oak-shadowed marble crypt.
And he’s still wearing the same suit and tie.
And that same smart aleck grin that says it’s him.
And he’s beckoning me to come closer.
“I’ve been waiting patiently. How are you?”
Right. That’s just my subconscious mind speaking.
“Right, it’s just your subconscious mind speaking.”
So, how can Little Joe be standing here?
I’m thinking, some sort of ocular glitch?
“Nope. Wrong. It’s me. Just keep it to yourself.”
Right. I’d lose my airline transport license.
Thanks for dropping by. How the hell are you?
Sorry for the pun. How long can you stay?
Paranormal Series #_____
All images of daguerreotypes, ambrotypes, tintypes, cabinet cards, and postcards are from the author’s private collection. Photographs appearing on this writer’s pages on this site are licensed.
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Author’s Edit History (on Close Readings Page)
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For a close reading of the poem, view the video above
For an additional close reading of this poem, see the video above
Copyright 2025 Michael Eugene Cantrall
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