by KG Newman
On an Uber’s final fumes we made it
to the spirits tour, where pricey beers
and an up-close look at walled-off
smuggling tunnels brought back
bone-ridden märchen of the Red Light District—
upscale LoDo juxtaposed against
powerful Mesdames sneaking politicians
around under nefarious warehouses
strengthened by the Brick Ordinance—
and still no elite officially wanted
association with saloon-laden Market Street,
originally named for mountain man
William McGaa, who also got to dub Wazee
and Wewatta after his Indian lovers before
drunkenness did him in, freezing to death
in the town jail in December 1867.
KG Newman is a sports writer for The Denver Post. His first two poetry collections, While Dreaming of Diamonds in Wintertime and Selfish Never Get Their Own, are available on Amazon. The Arizona State University graduate can be found on Twitter @KyleNewmanDP.
Boned 