(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.