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