The Undoing Ghost

In the last three hours of his life,
he shuffled through claustrophobic rooms,
closing doors and windows,
flicking off light switches,
pouring unfinished glasses of white wine
and tumblers of ice water
down a kitchen sink.

He wielded a remote control,
turning a television on
in every room he scuffled through.

His wife seemed always just
not too far ahead, disappearing down this
hallway or beyond that door,
but she didn't look back,
and he didn't catch up.