Tourist

I am the ghost at your bedside

hovering closely to hear

your whispers

I am the anchor that tethers

your spirit to this world

giving you plenty of line

though not release.

I am the voice that sounds

in your aching head and lies

to you for your own good

So you will get well.

I am the fretter select

who clucks and tends

a poor substitute

but…a willing one.

I am the city you left for love

but remain a fan of its lights

now returning to you

as a weary and devoted tourist.