John met many people.

Some days it was his daughter,

even when she was still on the phone.

Other days it was different folk

Some were soldiers and some were children

None of them said anything

not to him or those that didn’t see them

Their absence perpetuated that

and no-one was any the wiser

Only John knew the score

He became really upset

He phoned up for help

but no one could see what he was on about.

“You lot think I’m daft,” said John

“They’re in the bedroom, lying on the bed.

No one speaks. I can’t get them to go.”

“No bother. I told them to go. So they went,”

said his daughter

All was now fine

On the next night, as the dusk came

more folk arrived

Some were in the bedroom

Some were in the living room

John was again concerned

and none of them spoke

They were just there.

“They’re back here, again,” said John on the phone

“You’ll have to come and get rid of them

They’ll be after my money.”

“You don’t have any money,” said his daughter

who now understood the developing symptoms

In the home John met real people.

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