Late Night Thoughts as Sirens wail
When night cloaks the air heavy
And sirens sing on Bourbon Street
Wailing city sax and sad drunk tourist
Drape benches like so many discarded rags,
Muttering low, like a chorus a swamp coolers,
pockets full of slow grind French Quarter girls.
When New Orleans drips
Gutters fill with black glitter water
And little boats of twisted 2 drink cards,
My heart beats heavy bass drum
Leading an empty second line parade
of my past,
of wild-eyed women
of staggering old men,
arms outstretched, flailing drunken mad
at dark draining clouds.
Where are you tonight?
Where are you joyous New Orleans?