Ghosts

The first occupants of a house
are not its owners.
The single mismatched tile in the kitchen,
that blob of paint that won't be removed
from the kitchen rack,
the bulb that flickers continually in the bathroom-
the only clues that there was once,
in your bedroom,with its matched dark wood fittings,
a family that squatted on the untiled floor for their meals
by the light of an oil lamp,
the 70s transistor radio playing
an old song, dedicated to his family,
by a soldier who huddles in his barracks
somewhere in the those cold, forbidding mountains,
stubbing out a cigarette,
and dreaming of his home by the sea.