The Ghost-Me

Corey Mesler

The ghost-me appeared in my mirror
while I was out buying groceries.
By the time I got back he had taken
my place in the living room.
Now, most nights, we play backgammon
or one of the ancient games.
The ghost-me takes his time with every
move. It is his studied silence
that unnerves me most. His silence,
his ingenuity, his book-smarts.
Yesterday he asked me to move out. I
have nowhere to go. I have no one to
take me in. The ghost-me doesn’t
listen to such negativity. He says I
am only as good as I pretend to be.
I hate his homilies, too. The ghost-me has
replaced me now from tip to toe.
He asked me to write this to you, my wife.