Before the Kill – David Punter

Before the Kill

There’s a ghost in my bathroom
a phantom a spirit
a spectre an inspector
an inspector of marks
I don’t like him
being there he’s
inspecting me, looking
at me from the inside
from the inside out.

Hair-oil toothpaste
where is all this
going to end I
don’t think the health
of my gums the
shade of my hair
matter to him
a whit what a wit
he can be

Up-ending bottles
blunting blades
(yes, blades, this is
beyond a game),
pouring cologne from
my limited supply
he is limitless
he transgresses my
limits at every point.

I don’t think he
matters this ghost
he has no matter
or mind (I
don’t mind)
he is the spirit
of clutter he 
wishes me well
from the depths of

Wherever he is
this phantom of matter
I hear his
whisper and wisp
in arcs of soap
that rise and descend
(what a joke)
but now I
am gone from the mirror.

Closing in, he
sticks fingers in
unguents and oils
of which I know
nothing; his face
appears on the veil
every morning; there’s a
ghost in my bathroom;
I sharpen the razor. 

David Punter