Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

The Ghosts of West Meade

I have to get away
from the ghosts of West Meade.
They chase me down the long hall
and into the pink tiled 50’s bathroom.
They moan at me
from underneath the crawl space
where the cave crickets live.
They drink mint juleps
on the hill
behind the fence
in the civil war graveyard
and laugh
and laugh.
They sleep in the wood piles
and inhabit the sticks my dog plays with
on the blacktop.
I see him
running with them in his mouth,
spinning round and round
like he were possessed,
like he were holding
more than sticks.
They are everywhere,
breathing
fear into me,
keeping me locked
in their grasp.
Today
I left them behind
in my house in West Meade
and went to the ghetto.
There
no one can get me
but the Crips next door.