Still on the bus route but bypassed by the highway,
forgotten town, decaying, dying with its integrity in tact.
Old brick buildings, useless now except in the eye of the artist.
Sacred in the heart of the artist. I could move to Elgin
and be a handyman for an old woman with a crumbling house
and when she died become a hermit
and live down where the railroad crossed the creek
and eat prickly pear and mesquite beans
and be curandero to the few
and die there on the devils day
with the sunshine streaming through the rain.
--1993
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copyright 2007 by Larry L. Dill