The Spirit Room

I witnessed the dead eyed ghosts

of old Jerome,

cue up their sticks

to send the eight ball home...

they'd play with themselves

on the green,

those cold and hungry ghosts...

"six ball, corner pocket"

"I heard that"

"six ball corner pocket"

"I heard that"

"six ball corner pok..."

"Hell, man...will you just get on?",

go the ghosts of old Jerome,

as they play with their balls...

till the Spirit Room shuts em down.

Then, they climb to their own

dead bed's above the bar.

Weekend's best,

when all the college cuties

come to town...

to get themselves

a fondle from the men around...

the rowdy bar,

alive once more,

the smoke and piss upon the floor...

as all the drunkards tanking up on more,

watch the moves of the smooth old dudes

at the Spirit Room bar.

The girls with their skin tight jeans,

the boots, the cowgirl buckles on...

climb off  of daddy's  horse,

to mount the old ghosts waiting...

at the Spirit Room bar.

Those dead black eye's,

with an ember inside...

deep down, and the girls go,

and they fall for an hour or so...

or, maybe till morning,

in love with a ghost,


from...the Spirit Room bar...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016

Photo Credit: Saija Echtorian Photography, Spirit Room, Jerome Arizona