Yesterday’s Rocker Spirit

Hotel Nugget,
Now but a cat and mouse residency,
Ghost town memories catching still-night breezes
As hypnotic rocking begins its ritual.
Bramble bush audience tranquil in the streets,
Where snake and scorpion dance.

An owl atop the saloon’s tin roof blinks,
And like a surreal opera chorus,
Stairways creak,
Brothel’s shredded curtains flap,
Left-behind jail-keys jingle timidly,
Windmill squeaks its hunger for oil,
All becoming a melodious accompaniment,
Knowing well the faithful and sometimes cranky hotel proprietor,
Ghostly Sadie Dershowitz,
Nugget’s self-appointed diva,
Its one of a kind anomaly,
Especially back in 1853 Goldy Town,
Will continue to hover in and out of a simplicity that once was.

WELCOME!

Need a room?
Need a girl?
Need some shoeing?
Need me?

C’mon…

Somebody must need me,
Laments the lonely immigrant spirit,
Chanting tributes to her past settler friends,
Whispering her secret sadness for today’s freedom dreamers:
Syrian refugees,
Sudanese,
Somalians,
Libyans, et al,
Needing little of a boom town’s riches,
Wanting only the liberty to be.

Sadie died in her rocker,
A casualty of her time,
But unlike today…

Illegal aliens on foot,
Willing by any means
To earn their stay,
Face much more than dusty roads, tumbleweed, and a chair to sit in.

So many American towns and cities with shuttered windows,
Dead-bolted doors,
Guns at the ready,
Hold steadfast their fear of migration.

So much fear.

So little rocker spirit.