VFW Hall

I could live in the smell
of the musty old
basement VFW-
I would dress in
the wall hangings,
great dusty tapestries
of flags and figureheads
I will never know 
the stories of.
They are in the grave 
down the road and across
the gate.

The taxidermy is
a cozy touch,
homey and somewhat formal.
I enjoy the company of 
elderly elk heads
and sly foxes with 
fading coats.
 They remind
of the mink in the
back of my great grandmother's
closet. The smell is 
a thousand mothballs.

Green carpet down the hall
and the bingo cage is 
worshipped. The holiness 
here is enough to sanctify
the most hardened vets.
The lights never seem to 
work quite right,
but I like the dark,
and the must lingers 
longer when it cannot be seen.

I'd love sleep under the
folding tables,
listen to the crackling
old bones settle in,
listen for the scurrying 
feet of taxidermy foxes.