The Poltergeist

By MAX HAWKER

 

Last night a poltergeist came

in curtain-tracing breaths

piano chimes and foggy photo frames.

She asked me for the keys

to my children's lockets

to tamper with their lungs

and re-adjust their clocks.

I did not comply.

She railed at me

with lampshade rattling

hot growls and door thrashing,

then painted my face in reds and pinks.

I asked her for the meaning of it,

to let me see the reason

she reserves so well.

She could not reply.

 

This morning I found her debris

caught her reflection

in dances with mirrors

and wine glasses—

it's been this way since 1978.

She sang with Floyd a long time ago

but that was another life.

The kids have grown

and she knows their rooms are dusty,

this house is now the changeless watcher

charting her ungluing.

There's a stranger in the hall,

show her around, make her coffee,

accommodate—it's your job,

just keep her hostage

until you work it out.

 

 

‘The Poltergeist’ won third prize in The Psychiatry Research Trust Poetry Competition 2012

 

About the poet

 

Max Hawker is a Croydon-based writer who has had a number of poems published, as well as a few short stories; he has also been long and shortlisted in several competitions, most recently Poetry Lostock 2012 and the Fermoy International Poetry Festival. He is proud to have his work feature here as he is a long-term sufferer of OCD, and applauds the work of the Psychiatry Research Trust as well as Excel for Charity.

 

Gold / Illusion / The Poltergeist / Massacre in Houla / Fish