Tony Bennett’s Ghost


Tony Bennett’s Ghost


She was drinking Mai Tais

in the Tonga Room

where she wrote me an email

that I didn’t get


because life: is like that


There was an email

and then there wasn’t an email

and I don’t understand almost everything

anyway, so


Where’d it go?


Did it get itself lost inside the haunted house of the internet?

Did it trust an honest faced porn site for directions?

Was it seduced by mermaids and dragged down beneath the waves

of a Philip K Dick envisioned sea?


How do I know?


It’s not in my inbox

and it’s not in her outbox

It’s in the just-vanished box

pre-ordering the next Taylor Swift album

drinking whiskey like a tired gladiator on its day off


It’s gone


Nobody knows where it is now

but when I’d first heard it was missing

I was immediately sure I knew what had happened to it


because I’m occasionally cocky like that


I had become convinced with the equivalent

of zero doubt that

The Ghost of Tony Bennett Stole it


Tony Bennett’s ghost stole our email!

I insisted to her almost immediately

across the internet


I could just see him, Tony Bennett’s ghost

morphing his way away from the bar

smoking a quick cigarette with a potted plant

Trading pizza jokes with Don Rickles


as he absentmindedly swiped our email

out of the internet air, somehow mistaking it

at the time for his the phone number of a 1960’s cocktail waitress

or his car keys


With me, screaming


Leave that cocktail waitress alone! and

You’re in no shape to drive!

It’s Halloween for juke-box-sake!


Give us our fucking email Tony Bennett!

I could feel myself screaming


I was rambling at this point, naturally

when she pointed out, quite correctly

It couldn’t have been Tony Bennett’s ghost

that stole our email, because


Tony Bennett’s not dead

and she was right

I knew that


Of course Tony Bennett’s alive

and we’ll always have Tom Petty

Only songs can save us now


So what the fuck stole our email?

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