(thank you, John Betjeman)

 

Miss Ghost Hunter Dunn, Miss Ghost Hunter Dunn

Ghastly and pallid, deprived of the sun

What lingering presence has made itself known

By the hovering cup and the hideous groan?

 

Cold-footed drafts remain in attendance

Moist as the grave, chill as repentance —

Sentinels serving Purgatory’s sentence

Trapped in the turn of a post-mortem dance…

 

Discarded footwear, a broken back chair,

Something consisting entirely of hair

With one or two gaps where the dark is laid bare

Lit by the light of the moon on the stair.

 

Dead, you’ll stay as ethereal matter

Stay to engage in ouija-board chatter

Adding chain-drags, some bumps and a clatter

And glimmer-in-gloom effluvium splatter.