the supermarket funeral pyre

i am a ghost with a distinct preference
for supermarkets as my haunting grounds.
i zip from aisle to aisle, agitated by the cheap,
sallow lights and high ceilings. my howls echo

(just behind the tannoy,
“member of staff to checkouts, please. repeat:”
becomes “do you ever remember being
really happy? at all?”)

and i’m the itchy sensation in the back of your knees
(when you're dead, a lot more things pass for entertainment).
i am courting you with mischief – if dead i must be,
all sense denied – at least - allow me - my humour!

(just behind the tannoy,
“…we will now test the fire alarms, do not be alarmed”
becomes an inferno: i am cooking me up
some new friends.)

The End

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