When the Ghost
of my husband deigns to roll over
next to me in bed, or grabs a mosquito
out of the air with his ever-quick fingers
leaving a round drop of blood on the white sheets,
or presumes to tickle the sole
of my foot with the feather of his breath,
or walks to the window to pontificate
on how stars twinkle but planets don’t
I simply cast him that withering look
that all wives possess, the one that turns husbands
to dust and I blow him away, making sure
to do so before our son sees
Lyndsey Kelly Weiner is a graduate of Stonecoast MFA and teaches writing at Syracuse University. She blogs at haikuveg.com.