It was Christmas in Floy
Exit 175 at yuletide
Visions of I-70 semis through the electric fog
A great icy pie crust rolled out over four and twenty black brush.
A Doctor Zhivago landscape
But no good-looking non-Russian actors like in the 1965 movie
Or good-looking non-Russian actors like in the 2002 TV miniseries
No Egyptian Omar Sharif or Scottish Hans Matheson as Yuri
Just an American wanderer in a giant stadium coat and a thick red, wool scarf;
My KEEN boots barely grip the ice around my car.
Floy’s Zhivago isn’t romantic
Or heroic or part of a great struggle
No quaint buildings or fabulous sable fur hats
The air freezes the hairs in my nostrils.
An old construction camp
A used-to-be train station
An access to the Brontosaur Copper Mine Trail,
Ruby Ranch and Labyrinth Canyon
Was it really Floyd and the D fell off along the way?
Now just a siding, only of interest to trainspotting photographers
Floy Canyon flows under I-70 as Floy Wash
Population zero;
Not a graffiti-sprayed ghost town like Cisco
Just an abandoned no town
Scraped off the earth with a jagged straight razor.
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