Nobody ever called this place the Big Easy
when I lived here a couple of hurricanes ago
on some street I’ve forgotten.
I’m back, and taxiing down Rue Du Jardin,
la-di-da name for flats and warehouses
and I know people inside
can’t be alive inside all of that gray.
The famous river, though,
doesn’t it shimmer at night
whispering,
Come on in!
Water’s fine.
Ha, ha! Fooled you!
That train whistle is an arrow going through me.
I leave you with my uptown card
good for one free drink a month.
My old bicycle, parked in weeds.
A pair of black candles for the next big storm.
Softly, the Louisiana rain.