Santa Fe kills the blues.
Every year in early September
People gather from all around.

Folks come to watch Zozobra burn.
A fifty-foot high paper monster,
This puppet they named "Old Man Gloom".

To reach a darkening arena,
The brave wander through a graveyard.
While first hearing the monster's moans.

Then they see his awful movements,
Arms flailing in woeful protest,
At his anticipated doom.

Dancers, clad in white togas,
Sway around the monster's feet
To a mournful song of death.

The red-robed fire spirit,
Holding high a flaming torch,
Joins the doleful dance of death.

The dancers' movement climaxes
When the torch ignites the paper
Of which the Old Man's body is formed.

Flames and smoke creep up the monster,
And the watchers stare in wonder,
As Zozobra meets his end.

The audience breathes a big sigh.
Another year's gloom is dead and gone,
Killed by the folks of Santa Fe.

© 2008 Joyce Greene (All rights reserved)