NOLA 2010

NOLA 2010

thou art more wondrous
& dredded than couldve
hoped for
Your Royal Street
jazzy street bands
of funkster bohemes
in 1920’s Depression Era duds,
glory & woe etched upon faces,
twitching gyrating washboard percusser,
bessie smith on clarinet,
squeezeboxes galore,
& I am transcended to
good clean dirty alice coming out of rehab Wonderland
side-slappin toe tapping goodness
but might I ask:
where are the sad sad songs:
5 years after
have ye recovered?
time to celebrate inebriate
blap a doodle doo?
Yes, there are idears
that sad does not sell
nor is in good tastes
for visitors from afar
in these medicated caffeinated
speeded up speedy times.

i pass, pass on, further on down this road
The Big Ass Beer place on Bourbon
and all the excesses,
intoxicatingly wonderful horrible excess:
ain’t nobody in this town gonna tell ya
no, not this town successfully coming out of rehab,
a town that know how to
party & let be be
in angry jealous gunshots & sirens & cops gone wild...

& I’m headed homewards now
past the projects
the everybody hates dem projects projects but me,
cuz them folx got some feelin I says,
& their kids are happier
every time I bike by & listen just for a sec
I’d go there tonight if invited or
could get by
verifiable warnings of gloom & doom waiting to
me there
and steal every last lump of lint in this empty pocket.
I’d go there but.
if it weren’t so.
didn’t look so.
if only it
was so safe I could parade grandma & the kids there
on christmas with all our new gadgets saying,
“betcha’ed like some o these?”
if only it was soo damn safe
& quiet
& dead as the suburbs on a Tuesday afternoon, then...
and I keep going
keep right on going...


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