In the bend of the river we sat.
A languid symphony.
Come and stay.
Sweat and moan.
Delirious worship of the sordid.
Hot grease, sweet music, mother love.
Now a new woman comes to the temple.
She been here befo’,
‘dis time she mean bid’ness.
From half a world away,
from a whisper to a scream,
from a ripple to a wave.
Mean seas boil and flood,
black skies heave and blow.
The one two of wind and water.
She rages past and then,
stalking, she turns
like a hit man, and puts a knife in the back,
through the soul
of the Big Easy.
A castaway on a makeshift raft.
Tattered, baking, bloated.
Pleading with no one for help that will never come.
Quiet sweating death beneath her cruel white sun.