Ghosts filled the room where we sat drinking 
our tequila and beer in dusty hidden darkness.

We talked of the hard suffering history of 
Rocky Mountain mining towns still
feeling residual pain, sadness, and death.

She observed us silently from blue ether
where she chose to live her afterlife
in a happier saloon 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.