Low Spirits

Here we go, it’s the usual tedium.
“Why are you restless, Spirit”? asks the Medium.
Why does she keep asking? She already knows.
I’ve told her before , it’s the state of my clothes.

In the land of the living, as a fashion designer,
my style was impeccable. Nobody finer.
So think how it felt. I could not have been sadder,
meeting my end when I fell off a ladder.

Paint-spattered clothes and my knees through my jeans.
Old Nike trainers I’ve had since my teens.
I can’t meet my Maker in togs such as these.
What should I be wearing? Oh, Armani please.

But no, in my scruff, I just waft around here,
with a headless princess and the odd Cavalier.
Just look at their finery. Puts me to shame.
OK, they’ve no heads, but they’re smart just the same.

And if that’s not enough, just to add to it all,
the paint stains are Homebase, not Farrow and Ball.
Is it too much to ask, for crying out loud?
The ones who died naked at least get a shroud,
with long flappy sleeves and the eyeholes cut out,
so they can go haunting and howling about.

If I was a Buddhist, I’d not feel so low.
At least as a Buddhist I’d get one more go.
I’d wear my best suit and die at a wedding.
But sadly I’m not, and the chance of me shedding
my nemesis garb is not within reach,
so I’ll weep and I’ll wail and continue to screech.

Maybe going to Hell’s a solution of sorts.
With it being so hot, I could just wear my shorts………
(Calvin Klein of course).




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