Blithe spirits

Do women spirits glide ethereal

in chiffon, ectoplasm-green,

like in that Noel Coward film,

or do they haunt as when the angels came -

flannelette pyjamas; half-dressed

in bra and slip; safety pins clasping at

too-tight trousers - or well turned out

as for a viewing of the deceased?

Do they hobble round in slippers,

toes wrapped over toes,

or does the afterlife’s chiropodist

pumice, balm, remould, render them to dance

in six-inch high stilettos, forever bunionless?