The graying temple of respite lists repelling pervasive gale.
The gable porch slings from the ridge, with gangling buttress posts now frail.
Hitching posts are only that, their rail, likely fire’s fuel.
Elements, versus dwelling, won the war in grueling duel.
Shadows reveal the bunkhouse door hung askew for rotting hinges.
Gusts billow once canvass curtains forthwith finely shredded fringes.
Glass shards speckle drifted sand atop ravaged dry floor board.
Blow-through walls scaffold fallen shelves whence their provisions stored.
Casings of bunks that slept the men cloaked of tainted cotton.
A shattered ammo box of empty shells long forgotten.
Chimney and the stove that warmed the innards dormant of condition.
Pane-less lantern lynched center long bygone viable ignition.
Faded color chewing tobacco poster decorates the pitch.
A ladle dangles from bowed water barrel, tied with a half-hitch.
Strident echoes bayonet this refuge for rest, and feed, an’ sleep.
Cowboy’s laughs, and cries, and tellin’ lies, these walls shall forever keep.
Copyright 2018 - Mark Munzert