The ghosts at the garage sale looked so real.

They made me feel so uncomfortable.

I couldn’t tell if the table was a deal.

One ghost was seated in a chair at it,

Reading an old newspaper she had found.

A male ghost moped around a shelf of books,

And gave the other patrons dirty looks

If they approached.

Another ghost filed through various items on a tray,

Tiny nails and screws and twistie ties

Off used bread wrappers.

I think he finally bought a few of them,

And I wondered what they were for.

I got the nerve to ask him,

And he said he took them and put them

Under floorboards at a house he haunted

To make them squeak better.

One of the ghosts bought a sweater 

To wear under her chains, so they wouldn’t “chaff as bad,” she said.

Then they all started to explain their purchases,

And I ran away,

Trying to escape the voices of ghost reason.

But this experience has freed me from

The urge to justify myself 

To anyone, ever, again.

-jenn