it was friday night (my ghost friend)

xxxhaneulxxx.

i asked myself
even as i was already immagining it
if it were possible
to make up your own ghost.

as a kid
i never had an imaginary friend.
i was happy enough by myself,
lost in books and dreams of greatness
and of smallness;

it is a boy,
just under ten years old,
he dresses always in the same clothes,
white buttoned shirt, khaki shorts,
black shoes.
his hair, swept to the side
his eyes, big and frightened,
his lips unmoving

he would sit beside me as i write poems
he would watch me cook, asking silently
for instructions on how to
properly marinade a roast
or make gnocchi al mare, his favorite,
with polipo and granchio.

it would amuse him so much
when i would start dancing silly
his eyeballs would roll
when i would open another bottle of verduzzo,
his eyes would become sad
when i would refuse to speak to him.

at night while i read
he would come stroke my head
he told me once
i should have my hair cut,
that my long hair makes me
look all the more sadder.

friday night, it started to rain.
past eleven, i started to drink.
listening to music, i started to write.
writing, i started to wonder

what i need is an exorcism.
give him hope, and another day

the little ghost boy told me
that he would just stand there,
amongst us, thinking,
his ghost thoughts
and somehow
he felt pity
for those of us living but are like
ghosts
too.

friday night,
it started to rain.
i was alone at the house.

my little imaginary ghost friend
was looking at me earnestly.

for some reason,
i started to feel a slight shiver.