Ghost Dance

by

J. M. Hallett

Dust devils whirl
O’er the ones who stayed
Those interred few
Who couldn’t move away

The little town, itself
Long ago labeled ‘ghost’
Where once were saloons
That drained many a poke

Where a one-room school
Offered the basics, fast
To the children in town
All sharing one class

Where a hotel towered
Two stories above
Complete with a brothel
And two soiled doves

Where numerous store-fronts
And log cabins stood
The remains now recycled
Oft used as firewood

And with each passing rain
Even rubble strewn ‘round
Barely visible now
Sinks ever lower, down

The old road, though, still
Across the valley, winds
And one dusty lane
Cuts back through the pines

And up against the hills
Wide across the park
Mines still scar the land
Ever deep, ever dark

And ghosts still lament
Their dirge ever shrill
As they slow dance each night
Atop Cemetery Hill

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