The Ghost's Invoice

The warehouse was loud and the lights were too bright,

and my knees are still humming from standing all night.

I pull out the mail with a hand that is sore,

and drop a thick circular onto the floor.

But the envelope under it has a red stamp,

visible under the glow of the lamp.

A debt for a heart that finally quit,

and his name is the only thing left on the grit.