Dinner With The Ghost Of Lorenzo Thomas Poem by Patricia Spears Jones

He was wearing a dapper suit and midnight blue brocaded tie-no stripes on him.
There was a sparkle in his brown eyes/his ghost was most corporeal
You're still curious about the world, I asked.

"Oh yes", said he spying an Obama 2012 poster.

"Brotherman needs to keep smoking!", he opined
The hole in his throat the size of a ballpoint pen.

"Reefer" I guessed. "Oh yes", he laughed.

The digits of his spectral hands shook gestures
What do you miss, I asked.

"Skin, he says. I remember flesh
soft to touch or rough from scabs on shins
falling off bicycles and such. Tough

Life was/is tough. But you", and then his voice
Muffled something meant for me, but

Oh Lorenzo, what did you say to me?
He chuckled, then rhymed
"The world is always spinning round like a broken toy you can't shut down"

Light crosses the hole in his throat.
As if its speed has found just the right portal.
"Reefer", he repeats. And we are laughing

I pick up the bill. It costs what it costs.
I pay what I can pay.
What was it he said, and why couldn't I hear it?