When Is a House Haunted
Eerie parlor music squeaks out over the musty floral rug
No human people have been in here for a long time
The organ has lost some keys; which gives a weird sound
The ghosts in the attic cringe, remembering better days.
Once a showplace, the house is overrun by vermin now.
Skittering and scampering across the floor is commonplace.
Mice have nests in the rug, and in the long-forgotten divan.
Tiny streams of light come through the holes in the paper blinds.
Owners of this house have allowed it to die an unnatural death.
Urine smells keep the riffraff out; including a mother opossum.
It is the place where halfhearted spiders go to die.
Not haunted, yet, full of unhappy memories.
Why the organ plays herself, none of us know.
We wait in the shadows, willing a human to come forth.
Hoping they will somehow fix her up, making her fresh and new.
A man attempts to peek into the windows.
The organ ceases its dirge-like play.
We animals skitter into the darkest shadows.
A surprise for a realtor on this holiest of days.
Halloween, a day for crazed visitors.
Seems appropriate that he wears a mask.
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