Ghost Town Portal Fantasy, Nevada

It looks like a wooden door
To nothing and no place, propped
In the middle of a yard

Between two shuttered buildings
On what used to be Main Street
And now is just an eyesore.

The world’s not dying. The world
Is thriving, booming at least,
Exploding with energy,

Wars, plastics, controversies—
Every bursting, human thing.
But some places fall behind,

Slow down, and silt up, oxbows
In the headlong rush downhill.
This Main Street is one of those—

Rural, mined, and railroaded
By the short, hard history
Of the U.S. desert west.

Today, it feels a bit more
Symbolic than usual,
That’s all. A little hiccup,

Little pause in the greater
World’s enchained, expanding rush,
Thanks to a novel virus

And compounding foolishness,
Has made this nearly dead town
With its boarded-up windows,

Decaying railroad station
Built for the miners’ heyday,
And dying hot springs motels,

Seem to embrace the earthquake
That, unlike the virus, kills
No one, but half interrupts,

For a few moments, the news.
It’s weird that this one false door
Propped up in a vacant lot

Doesn’t fall over, although
Storefronts slump and windows crack.
A kid or a novelist

Would imagine that the door
Might be a secret passage
To a more fantastic world.

Unfortunately, that would
Likely involve another
Myth of the hero’s journey

And typical magical
Creatures, big enough to see.
One world’s weird enough for me.