Spectre In A Hallway Poem by Michael Witkowski

He stood as if he be a spectre
when he spots me before i see him
round the bend, behind the door or in a nook
Acts Lot's wife on burning Sodom or Gomorrha
only tastes of marzipan

A spectre- least expected and playing dead
to scare my wits - he feeds me with bequiling
thoughts to prod on my tomfoolery-
and i take them warm-mindedly, insecure as i am -need
hints how to operate in society

we agreed to text our mutual friend
as he bought the postage stamps and
i relieved myself on the loo but when i was
done he left not as much as a ghostly trace
of himself up and down the long hallway