Sunday, February 12, 2006

New Orleans

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.