Prescott Elegy
Oct 20, 2022
A poem of disappointment.
I love this little town, but sometimes with ill luck there’s a tendency to blame the external when it’s really a struggle of the mind and heart.
Prescott is a stone in my shoe,
perfectly removable, while reminding
me of a mountain of plans collapsing
into a gold-exhausted creek.
Circling the courthouse with dogs
circling,
circling.
Losing old dogs,
walking a new dog,
going without.
Thumb Butte says
fuck off
Fuck the president
says the flag flapping
down Gurley
like a lubber’s jib
from the bed of a
battered 250.
