The Ghost Town

It need not be a desiccated wreck
of boards, completely uninhabited,
adobe bricks regressed to mud, hay. Heck,
it might be verdant and jackrabbited.

The wind might not lament; the gift shop door
could jingle bells, the jasmine candles wafting.
Beyond some seniors at the convenience store,
you might observe a fisherman shoplifting.

But say it's vacant and bunch grass gray. Then torch
an image, scent, or song from your present life
to reconstruct the step, the stairs, the porch,
the house, town, two men fighting with a knife.

Much like the architecture of a sonnet:
a step, and suddenly you die upon it.

Copyright © 2008 John Poch All rights reserved
from Two Men Fighting with a Knife
Story Line Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission