Poem-A-Day: Day 41

Well I Never!

The ghosts of people walk past
reminding me of people I’ve never met.
It’s a horrible souvenir;
a globe
filled with dirty underwear
and a little man waving,
and talking
about some beach I’ve never seen.
It’s a pen that’s handed to me,
golden box,
with the message:
“54 years working in the United States.”
It writes me stories,
mysteries that delve into the deepest,
darkest areas
of the insane in my membrane,
though I have never read them.

I have never
realized the things
I’ve never noticed.