She wore the Batman shirt
cutoff and tight

pale skin and bright red lipstick.
I never dreamed it was bright red with BLOOD
– because it wasn’t.

“Blood Red Number Nine,” she explains,
”but I am a ghost.”
“How’s that now?”
“I’m a GHOST!” She repeated, but somehow,
I heard “Goat.”

This led to a series of humorous false impressions
that followed us for weeks
– not the least of which were erotic –
that I shan’t get into here.

Just let it be said that when I cried “Bah!”
it wasn’t followed by “humbug.”