The Ghost of Cabbage Past

  NaPoWriMo day twenty one and poem number twenty one is about those good old days when Olive Oil was something you used for earache and leafy greens were plentiful.  It’s called The Ghost of Cabbage Past

The house smelt of cabbage

cooked and eaten long ago but in no hurry to leave.

The ghost of cabbage

slyly seeping through the keyhole;

creeping through the cracks;

lurking in the stairwell;

sliding under the doors.

The room itself was clean,

a little faded but a pleasant enough aspect

if you like your views grey and decaying.

I tried the bed, it creaked.

I sniffed, there was that smell again

invading my nasal passages;

lingering in the air.

“It’s ten shillings a week,” she said.

I caught a faint whiff of greens on her breath.

Was nowhere in this house free from the tyranny of cabbage?

“I can do you an evening meal for an extra two shilling and sixpence.”

“Would that involve cabbage?” I asked

“Maybe,” she said suspiciously.

“I’ll take it.”

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