an old writer and his words

The city is a ghost town,the ghosts peering warilyfrom windows they nowwish they had takenthe time to have cleaned,and now there is timeand no one to clean. They fear the silence,cannot fathom the smellof the air, somethingfaintly like a cool morningfrom their suburban childhoods. They have found pots,pans cast aside or usedfor any purpose otherthan…