If there were ghosts
they would be
brooding malevolent
derelict houses.

they would spy 
through cracks in siding,
skeleton key holes,
and the gap ‘tween
door and jamb.

they would drop windows
with a smash,
flinging shards of glass
cartwheeling
across slanted floors.

their rust-seized hinges
would squeal
and shriek,
while mysterious thuds
erupted from root cellars.

their ill-fitting panes 
would sigh and moan
like tones issuing
from a dissonant
aeolian harp.

punky cornice mouldings
would break loose
at inopportune times,
flipping tall ladders
groundward.

pull-cord lamp fixtures
would flicker eerily
then spit forth
crackling sparks and
plumes of smoke.

if there were ghosts,
they would be derelict houses
with doorsteps fashioned
of salvaged tombstones.