Cowboy Angels

Ghosts filled the room where we sat drinking 

our tequila and beer in dusty hidden darkness

while we talked of the hard suffering history of 

Rocky Mountain mining towns who still

felt residual pain, sadness, and death.


She observed us silently from blue ether

where she chose to live her afterlife

in happier saloons with cowboy angels

who bought her drinks and her bed

when the moon and stars still shined bright.


Water bugs danced joyfully on a polluted pond

of some mine’s continued orange pain 

to music no one heard on that Sunday morning.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.