When I was growing up in these remote hills
there was a ghost town near our potting shed trailer.
What do you call a ghost town when even its
ghosts have relocated? I just called it a town
and went there on those days in my childhood
when I didn’t get my way and I was depressed
and in the mood for a blistering or icy wind
blowing thru rows and rows of broken windows.
There was also the banging of shutters that sounded
like mamas calling their children home to suppers
of dandelion and stone, if that was your thing.