New Mexico

Just home from several days in the Southwest, crisscrossing Indian reservations, deserts and farms. In southern New Mexico we passed a rural corner with and old adobe Catholic shrine. There were some benches around it. They looked well worn. I wonder if grace has ever touched those bricks? I hope so. Directly across the street was the Manhattan Bar. Hey, we all worship someplace, this is America.

In the scrub oak of southern New Mexico
There’s a shrine on a corner where the faithful go
Manhattan Bar just across the street
When the praying’s done that’s where the faithful meet
The sun flutters down on angel’s wings
They dance all night to the Rio Kings

Maybe?

Goodness and Mercy,
Buck

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