Laughing Ghosts

Weathered-gray,
semi-petrified slats,
framed the dark holes
that once beamed
with light and life.

The porch,
shattered with broken teeth
and languid tongue,
was void of speech,
but not of sound.

Ghost’s laughter
echoed in the trees,
shading the wrinkled hat
cocked to one side, that
once sat square,
and kept the rain outside.

I clicked my heels
down the hollow of its throat,
looking for evidence
of the home it’d made.
With everything torn and scattered,
and holes set to trap,
I decided to leave, and
let the ghosts have it back.

(previously published in The Sidewalk's End)