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Where Old Ghosts Meet

I never considered age differences in the dead --
I mean
Dead is no more birthdays, right?
But there certainly is.
Old ghosts lord it over the newbies,
At least those with some staying power.
The murdered, the raped, the violently violated
They hang around; the die-in-your-sleep kind
Just pass right on over.
Diana is still shaking hands and holding parties,
While the queen mother is already gone.
I don’t think Joan of Arc will EVER leave --

Now and then we get a real influx of crashers.
The Titanic crowd, now they had plenty of trauma
And all that old money haughtiness, you know --
They threw their weightless weight around just as you’d expect.

You’d think the holocaust and pogrom victims would be swamping the streets, but no.
Oh there’s a few here and there, but they mostly just walked right on through,
Something about advance payment, you figure it out.

Now
There's a rush of New York types,
Some chasing stray pieces,
Some still beating at fires that no longer burn,
Some pounding melted cell phones
Not yet sure what gives;

More cops and firemen than you’d ever imagine,
We’ll NEVER get away with anything here again.

The old ghosts gather in howling winds,
In dark streets at the dim of the day
And wonder, with their eyeless jaws and toothless tongues
Just what to do with this yuppie crowd.
But there’s nothing.
They’ll be wandering around here
For a good long time to come.

John Turner

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