Ghost Town Visitor Off of US 66, west of Kingman, Arizona by Jeffrey C. Alfier for Richard Hugo Apaches never returned the woman they named this town for. But the residents' thin faith did not die till the war effort said the mines were useless. Thucydides never claimed that ghosts and homeless burros could substitute for human flesh and bone in the definition of a city, though some could find themselves strung from gallows whose rope will only gape at tourists now. That wind howling past abandoned mineshafts stings your eyes and summons hollow voices of old preachers warning you that one day your lust will become your vanishing point when you find out too late that love means more than tasting skin. Yet you force your mind back to the breeze raking the austerity that unfolds before you. In this spent place the rocks sing in ultraviolet light, just for the smiles of children. But you know if wind moves in a tomb it sounds like this. © 2003 by Jeffrey C. Alfier. All rights reserved. Home