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Holy Ghost

Holy Ghost. For fifty minutes he drives westward on his scooter to get his face tanned, and then turn and drive fifty minutes eastward to tan his back. He does not even stop this exhilarating journey for a cold beer. Not many cars on the road, which is good as his elderly body is exposed and his skin pores absorb nature around him, store it in the form of memory for days when it is cold and he is stuck in the house. Farmers on their tractors and grazing cattle used to stop and stare, now see but not see him. A slow moving ghost shimmering over asphalt; it is said without him it will be a rainy summer, crops will rot on the ground, tractors suffer mechanical breakdowns and cows will stop yielding milk.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2013




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Date: 7/17/2013 7:07:00 AM
Wow Jan - Such images. I love the slow moving ghost shimmering over asphalt. What a descriptive phrase for those mirages. I used to think I was the only one who saw them. I'll think of this if ever again I make the cross (usually at funerals). love your poetry, Kathy
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Jan Oskar Hansen
Date: 7/17/2013 7:14:00 AM
thank you Kathy

Book: Shattered Sighs