T'was

bad

ground

&

holy

ground

in this American ghost town

in which the haunted saloon whistled its tune

which sounded forth shrilly especially around high noon…

~

There was no more whiskey

no more tables no more chairs

one wall was missing & half the roof

dust was thick where a rooster roosted

I wobbled on the last stool at the counter

Holy Mary the barmaid poured me a shot

a shot of grace

& I gulped it down.

~

In one corner stood some Tea-Party fumblers

in another some Occupy-Wall-Street tumblers

all were now protesting the top 1% of the rich not paying a fair share

but the flapping of the right & the rapping of the left

these wingers of the left & the right

never got together & that afternoon was icy as dark dark night

here

in the ghost town called Love.

~

There’s bad ground & holy ground

in this American ghost town

where the haunted saloon whistles its windy tune

which sounds forth so shrilly especially around high noon…

~~~

http://ghostowncalledlove.wordpress.com

~~~