The Central Park Ghost

James Tennison was found murdered. Dead in central Central Park.

He should have known better than to take a walk there after dark.

If the thugs had asked nicely for his wrist watch, he would have given it to them, just fine.

But they wanted someone to kill and they knew a dead man didn’t need to know the time.

So, they gave James timeless life in mid winter’s dark, dimly lit street.

With park benches, sat abandoned, and a frosty crunch under feet.

The leaf covered tarmac, pined for the touch of a sole.

That James, in the same boat, felt compelled to console.

His soul slithered around for a while, a snake lost in the shadow.

He wondered “where do you go to, when you’ve nowhere to go?”

When he came across the alivers, it was mostly linked up lovers, in love.

But the only hand held by James was that of the occasional lost glove.

He watched them kiss under the spotlight illumination of a nearby lamp post,

and wondered what love there was out there for an isolated Central Park ghost.

Feeling lonely, he thought of someone out there who was famously lonelier, still.

Decided to pay a visit to someone else who couldn’t feel the sharp, December chill.

So he floated, apprehensively over to the Central Park zoo.

Didn’t need to pay for a ticket cause ghosts don’t have to.

He drifted over to the spot, the home of the famous lonesome polar bear.

But, the bear looked at James coldly like he wondered why he was there.

The bear was so fed up with the audience, the tourist onlookers and eyes.

So, James, being a ghost, didn’t cause the white bear much of a surprise.

James said “Polar Bears aren’t meant to be in New York you know?!”

The polar bear shrugged him off. “Well I don’t much like the snow.”

James said “Don’t you get tired, being the subject of everyone’s gaze?

Is too much company, too much, when it goes on for days and days?

These people aren’t friends, you’re just a spectacle on display.”

All the bear replied is “who are you, to care about me, anyway?”

James tried to sigh, but with no breath he’d have to pretend.

He spoke, “I’ll be honest, I’m just here looking for a friend.”

The bear said “You’ll find one, there’s been others like you

but there’s too little privacy to stay here at Central Park zoo.”

So James left the zoo and wondered where else he might try.

If he could produce tears, he may have allowed himself to cry.

Defeated, he wondered where he could find somewhere that knew death?

A place to hold souls, ghosts and goners. He needed a place of no breath.

A graveyard sounded promising but with everyone being underground…

He found a place better, with no digging required for a soul to be found.

He remembered, as a child, going there at least once or twice.

Tall ceilings, dark corners, a ghoulish visitor it might just entice.

A place of carbon fossils and brittle old bones.

Dusty taxidermy, jarred specimens and stones.

He wandered the exhibits, the halls and the aisles.

Past plinths, shelves, frames, draws and old files.

Among unmoving artifacts, he searched for something with a face.

Until, eventually, he saw the body of a dinosaur, enclosed in a case.

He whispered to him quietly. To the skill, where there used to be an ear.

“I’m a lost Central Park ghost. Please tell me, is there room for me here?

I’m looking for folk, who might understand how it really feels to undergo,

being without warmth, without camaraderie and I feel like you might know.

After all, you’re all labelled here with signs reading “do not touch,”

I’m more alone than ever. Please tell me, I’m not asking for much.”

The creak of bones, whispered back to him, like in a library.

The dinosaur said ”You don’t want to be stuck here, like me!

If there’s some place you want to be, then this place is the last.

I’m forever entombed behind fingerprinted glass with my past.

This is not a museum but just a mausoleum of dead found things you see.

Why be captured here when you can be lost and out there wandering free?

I hope you understand but I simply cannot let you stay.

You have too much spirit, so alas I must send you away.

Goodbye! But please do remember to get a memento of us at the gift shop, before you go.”

“Well” James said “that’s what they did. They killed me and took my watch just for show.”

He left the museum with a low mood and his head hanging, in defeat.

He headed back towards the park and slowly floated down the street.

“There must be other ghosts of people in the park who have died.”

He wondered where exactly another ghost might decide to reside.

“Strawberry fields!” he exclaimed. He didn’t think that it was too far.

“If you’re going to have a friend, what better than a ghostly rock star.”

The wind got behind him as he drifted north westerly to the part.

Until he came across the ‘Imagine’ etched stone, memoriam of art.

Flowers, candles, and criers still morning, though years had gone.

“It seems, there will always be friends for the Beatle called John.”

It was easy at that moment for James to imagine no heaven, nor a hell.

And it was hard, stuck down here, to imagine any sky above us as well.

James missed work, missed his living life. Even though it was sometimes tough.

He never would have ever wished for death. So he decided enough was enough.

He thought “As long as it’s not too much of a song or a dance.

If my soul can one day find peace, l will give death a chance.”

He’d been around quite a bit, but not seen another spook or even a trace.

He’d considered for a while if maybe he was just looking in the wrong place.

So in he took out ad in the New York Times,

thought hard about it and wrote a few lines.

“Lost pale ghost seeks something or someone to find.

Lonely ghost not long dead, seeks ghost with like mind.

Looking for a free spirited, transparent friend,

willing to show me how to leave this dead end.

Central Park area, but am willing to travel,

Look forward to seeing what will unravel.

Meet me at 4pm, Tuesday. Will be wearing white sheet over my clothes.

I’ll be eagerly waiting for you on the tip of the Statue of Liberty's nose.”