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Christmas in Floy

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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