When the ghosts of the day disperse

Running rest-day ...

... and here's a poem from Andrew Greig's 1990 collection, 'Order of the Day' - I've blipped from it before:


A Good Talking To

When the din fades
and ghosts of the day disperse
into the wallpaper of an ordinary room
a voice speaks quietly
and I listen.

It has recently begun
to address the divine.
Do not be alarmed!
I am always polite
it says in an aside.

What does it say to the divine
this pertinent voice?
please --- sustain me --- thank you
Communications are simple
among the adept.

I would wish to be someone
who could address without blushing
a vast stadium
even if the multitudes
have picked up their coats and streamed home.