NOLA, – drinking my cajun Bloody Mary
from the plastic cup.
the canvas of the paratrooper’s bag in the dusty flea market store, I will paint the still alive of a bench in Jackson’s square on its camouflage.
you’re making me drunk with your beer in the disposable cups,
waking me up with a chicory coffee
served by the stoned waiter with a broken arm.
many dirty windows and the smell of the mold on the walls.
turtle soup and a voodoo doll of yourself.
take a pin, stick into its back, get the best back scratch in the world.
a local girl, serving flaming Dr. Pepper, flames, everything is in flames
her burning eyes still haunts me in the nights.
an old portrait of a dixieland musician
in the Preservation Hall.
her beautiful breasts for a beads made of teeth,
a teethless neighborhood, empty lots.
the hurricane washed’em all away,
her withered breasts,
only stone steps left on the dry land.
I remember her European name.