a weird smirk comes over me,
and i feel pleasantly smug,
for no reason, mind you, but all the same…
i can hear the sound of the piano in the other room,
but no one else is there,
so i think i’m with a ghost that knows my name,
along with what to say to boost my ego at just the right time
i don’t go around telling people that i write poetry,
in fact, i use a pseudonym to stay even more anonymous on the internet,
and i lie to myself that i don’t know why i do that,
though really it’s because i can gossip about myself
without seeming too egotistical,
which might, i realize now while typing it out, sound even more egotistical
Fred Aiken Writing 