The little ghosts swirl around me this morning
the boys and girls that I could have known
had I made this or that connection
with this or that woman
at this or that point.

Entirely fictional children
come to life
this hazy day
out of nothing but lost potential
which seems to be most of what I have.

Nathaniel likes sailboats
controlled remotely
but doesn’t like to share.

Samantha Junior is shy
even sullen
and prone to reading in the closet.
She wouldn’t go out to the park with me
even if I begged.

Jacob and Jackie, ubermensch twins,
roughhouse all over the place,
and need to be taken out all the time,
lest they break the apartment in two.
Still, the place is a shambles.

As I view the little ghosts
in all their shameless specificity,
I come to realize that they’re actually kind of shitty.
I sort of dodged bullets with them.
Better off to be alone
away from the specters
of families lost.

I go home to an afternoon movie and Coke.

Delicious and quiet.