Prescott Elegy

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.

Photo by Randy Bailey on Unsplash

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.

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Nancy J. McLaughlin

I love both reading and writing poems, as they are capable of transporting us with just a few words. I also tell my stories with paint on canvas.