My poem this hour hasn't really got beyond the rough sketching of ideas. I want to feature a world in which ghosts and humans swap places, with very few of the former ghosts believing in the human ghosts, except for one or two who cannot convince the other former ghosts that there are human-ghosts. I like the idea of this twist, but it will need quite a bit of work after the marathon to make it stand up. The TV program mentioned, Corrie, is Coronation Street, set in the UK city of Manchester, home of the soccer teams. It's been a weekly show on British TV for years and years.
I walked through the door
more accurately floated
like a bad odor
I recognise the lady sitting in the reclining chair,
from photos in the purple album,
kept in the cupboard under the stairs.
it's Aunt Agatha,
great great great aunt Agatha,
feet up in front of Corrie
Drifting in through the fireplace
Alex spies Agatha,
“Hey dad, is this cool or what! Who on earth's that?”
“have you put the water
on for my bath, Maud dearest?
“I can't find a tin bath.”