July 16, 2016The Ghost of the Ticket Seller
He arrives
no more than a lingering soul
He sells no more than a piece of air
to only what he believes is there
He calls the prices
to the lonely station
Nobody waits in the night-time outdoors
But still he sells the absent tickets
He calls a lunch break
and off he goes
Packing up his bag
He floats to the streets below
Where the owls hoot in the distance
He returns still selling
Nothing real disturbs him
from 2016 RYPA