Ghost Town

A tumbleweed meanders, blindly.
Sharp, gusty wind its hapless guide.
The hanging street signs creak, unkindly.
Saloon is empty, dead inside.
Town square abandoned, dust and gravel.
The gallows, where a judge's gavel
would send a miscreant to hang,
or pray, get rescued by his gang,
stands lifeless, and devoid of function.
What's law and order to a ghost?
Some surely went back to their coast,
when the expected railroad junction
was moved due west. The town remains.
But the relentless desert gains.