ghosts

When I wake up a two in the morning
I hear his one hoof slipping on the cobbled
it didn’t use to be like that it was a sandy lane
easy to walk on but inland tourism is big now
hence the uneven stones, he stops outside my
house I shiver in the heat, but then he walks on
chuckling darkly he has the comic timing of
a comedian who hates his audience, himself and
the whole fucking world.
Sleep impossible I walk barefoot into the kitchen
open the fridge a cold beer never fails to bring
coolness and a rethink, but I sense shadows around
my desk when I look up only cold air blows and
my contempt for my ghosts is total never do they have
the courage to show their faces