If I Were a Ghost

If I were a ghost, I would not be ghostly
I will walk into what bothered and into your days
announce my entry conspicuously
with heft and girth and the daggers of years.

Not like a slender shadow on tiptoe
spooked by the living, merely lining dreams
I might, when passing, plant a foot wrong
stumble into lamps and the formerly loved.

If I were ghost, you will see
paunch, opaque, you will see worry
no -- not worry, you will hear displeasure
moans moaned for the pitiable poor.

I intend to stand, bloodied head in hands
frighten bureaucrats out of office
shock the color out of their toupees
rock the boat harder than the puny living.

If I were a ghost, I would be the tyrant
you need, and then I'd die, but this time
after carcasses abound, with an askant brow
and the cackle of the satisfied.