Albert Ahearn

It’s surrealistic in what I see
In the most unlikely places, in fact.
Especially when unexpectedly
They appear before tiredly eyes, abstract.
Was eating as usual, cereal:
Shredded wheat with sliced ripen banana.
Staring back from my laden spoon revealed
A face, the ghost of my Marianna.
Startled, yet saddened, my head turned around
Expecting to see my wife’s lovely face.
Instead I had found a man with a frown
Mirroring back from a glass-door bookcase.
Her haunting visits, this angel of death
Will continue I guess till my last breath.