Little ghost

There was a cabin in the woods
And snakes on the road
In that place
In the middle of God knows what
With the sheep
And the neighbour’s goat
My brother felt like talking to
With a sheet on my head
I tried to make my sister move
I tried to get her head
Out of those books
And her eyes
Were glued to the page
And I wished
They were glued to me
And looked at me
Not through me.
My arms were extended
And I sung “ooooooh”
Then stopped,
Then sung again “oooooh”
Until she told me off
And I made myself small
And haunted that house
Covered in white
And desperate to prove
My father wrong
In that
Everything
Was not alright.

A lesson learnt in Franco Manca

I became irritated at the thought of this man telling me that the pizza I ordered half an hour ago
was only just being prepared. My way or no way. I want to eat in, he does not. I want a million
dollar man and he wants trees. Sometimes, no one gets what they want.

Nadja Moore is a writer based in Surrey, UK. She has a day job, a roommate, a band called Lilies in my brain and no pets. Her poems have appeared in Horror Sleaze Trash and Terror House Magazine.