At the Taco Bell/Pizza Hut
around the street corner
a haunted drink comes
free with every order.
Roll up to the window
place an order for Mt. Dew
take a sip of aquamarine
and gulp down a ghost, too.
The spirit builds a mansion
deep down inside.
Lonesome in its house,
it longs for a poltergeist.
Every digestive gurgle
manages to taunt
the isolated, companionless,
stomach-residing haunt.
The ghost decides to leave,
in search of something better.
Perhaps it will be found
down within the nether.
It floats and squeezes
through a labyrinthine maze,
struggling to see itself
amongst the gaseous haze.
It wonders if it ever
will manage to find “the one.”
The spirit barely has a type:
ghost, ghoul, or phantom.
The bygone ghost
traverses a region at the rear.
Suddenly its ears perk up
not believing what it hears.
The shriek of a banshee
echoes through the narrow chamber.
The ghost knows the way out
will be different from when they came there.
A gusty wind pushes
the spirit toward the shriek.
The ghost is once again forlorn
finding no banshee, only stink.
Elizabeth Bates is a Pushcart-nominated writer living out her happily ever after in Washington state with her husband, son, and two Siberian Huskies. Bates is the EIC of Dwelling Literary. Her work is forthcoming in Poetically Mag and the BYLINE LEGACIES anthology from Cardigan Press. Twitter: @ElizabethKBates