The Church Street Ghost

Floating at night, I am a ghost –
I take the long way home.
I drift down Church Street, slipping past
Barricades and sentry posts.
I’m unnoticed and unknown.

At the site, I watch the rescue crews
Sifting through debris,
Hauling buckets full of dust.
Each pail holds hidden clues,
But they’ll find no sign of me.

A policeman who lost his friend
Sleeps on the market floor.
I wish I could be of service,
But I do not bother him –
I’m not who he’s looking for.

What does it mean to find the dead,
Bury them in the ground?
On cardboard sheet, did you notice –
Did you pass me when I lived,
As the homeless in this town?

Try to dust your damn apartments –
At night I’ll float as ash.
And though my gift might be missed,
Just an acknowledgment –
Nothing more will I ask.