Ghost Poem

[Don’t you remember, you promised to haunt?] 
I decide to go to you, in the afterlife, at Pig Beach. 
I’m not yet finished with our volcano planet, this is 
only a day trip. When I don't see you on the sand, 
I know you must spend your cloud-hours unanchored, 
on a salt wave. What I do not expect, is for your boat 
to be made of alligator skin. A leather bed to rest on, 
a sun bath. I’m surprised you’re alone. I thought you’d be 
with your father. Or your best friend. They're here! you shout, 
They're fishing! Voice glides across water like an ice skate. 
In this blurry place, fishing is different. The two men swim 
on each side of you, father left, friend right, as schools 
of goldfish chase them. Everywhere else, an assortment 
of pigs. Pink, dalmatian, tree-trunk brown. They float easy, 
fleshy islands. They don't need any thing, any more.