Epilogue to The Ghosts of Women Past

The Ghost of Me

I can’t help but wonder

Now that I am gone

Assuming you’ve replaced me

Or will before very long

When will the parade of trophies begin?

Like stuffed heads on a wall

The lovers from your past

I certainly met them all

Those ghosts, wrongly miscast

In your ongoing show and tell

As you stroke yourself and swell

Your ego and pride you don’t try to hide

I can’t help but wonder, now that I walked away

Will I too be on display?

What role will you give me?

Will I be friend or foe?

Will I be one that left too soon or one that wouldn’t go?

Will you label me crazy, a loony, an uneducated fool?

Will you say I was not athletic enough as a general rule?

Will you speak of me fondly when it’s me you recall?

Or will you not say very much at all?

I can’t help but wonder

What ghostly role I will play

What assignment you’ll give me

A bit part or lead?

Femme Fatale or Vixen?

Dumb Blonde or Kitten?

Whatever it is, I’m sure it will feed

Into the score you’ve so deftly written

I always knew I’d wander your life someday

One of your ghosts…

A vapor so sheer I’m barely there

I can’t help but wonder if the next one will yell – go away!

And stamp her feet at me

And spit into the air