Ghost Town, Mother Lode
By Robert Stout

A dog skids to its haunches
twists its head
and yawns
a dead fir
lies like a broken-toothed comb
beside the road
the gas station’s closed
blue neon
winks through the pine tops
LI UOR! BE R!

Robert Joe Stout is a freelance journalist, novelist and poet. He lives in Oaxaca, Mexico with his cat, neighborhood dogs and a tree full of sparrows. His poetry has appeared in The Tishman Review, Third Wednesday, Liquid Imagination and many other magazines and journals.