Ghost Town

Footsteps
are etched in the dust
of a thousand broken promises
and a million shattered dreams.
And through the bustle of people
I battle through the city maze
feeling completely alone.
Even ghosts would be lonely here.

Horses might have been replaced
by the constant, expressionless
subway tunnels, but they still
let loose as much waste.
The saloons may have taken up
more catchy, darkened looks,
but they still house the same
dead-beat, frightened cowboys
in need of their medication.
And while rolling
on the gray pavement,
page two of the Times
can easily be mistaken
for a dirty yellow tumbleweed.
Even ghosts would be lonely here.

The arms race has been won
by now, it is true:
no one feels an urge
to carry guns in holsters.
And casinos carry out the same
shady, yet certified, deals
that unruly bearded men
carried so long ago.
And while walking, every pair of eyes
that follow my trailing shadow
seem as empty as the wallet
in a homeless man's pocket.
Even ghosts would be lonely here.

Smiles
are empty, without feeling;
missing gaps as giant
as the newest skyscrapers
or as wide as a ten-gallon hat.
Oh, how I hate this city,
fueled by guns and drugs and twenty dollar coffees!
But even the ghosts would agree:
I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else.


~J.V.Harker~
~10 February 2009~