Ghosts filled the room where we sat drinking 

our tequila and beer in dusty hidden darkness

while we talked of the hard suffering history of 

Rocky Mountain mining towns who still

felt residual pain, sadness, and death.

She observed us silently from blue ether

where she chose to live her afterlife

in happier saloons with cowboy angels

who bought her drinks and her bed

when the moon and stars still shined bright.

Water bugs danced joyfully on a polluted pond

of some mine’s continued orange pain 

to music no one heard on that Sunday morning.