Old sun bleached boards
creak underfoot, some sag,
under the weight of years
and threaten to quit as I step.

The old rusty open sign,
lies through its teeth,
as its one remaining chain
complains in the breeze.

A dust devil walks slowly
through the old worn out town
bringing the smell of history
with notes of manure and gunpowder.

Shattered windows and broken hearts
are seen and brought to mind
peppered with exciting gold rush
and gunfights, scenes from another time.

I return to the now, as my ignition starts
and I drive down the lane, once filled
with horses and buggies and schooners,
in the distance shiny new, behind me ghosts wave.