Particular Ghosts

A poem about baggage

Forget the book and candle.
The creaking comes with age.
You know those rattling panes
are taunted by branches left
uncut by you in lazy summer.

Do not lock the door and run.
Ghosts are particular. Always 
with us, they thrive in three-ply 
boxes, and in packed suitcases.
When you are ready, they are too.


Tony Noon