“There once was a man
who could only stand
parallel to the rain.
The kids from town
would gather around
his garden gates whenever
the tide whipped in
black ghostships in sky
and the air tasted sweet.
When the symphony
started in a crash of rain,
the kids would play their
horns and bang their drums –
a familiar Calypso beat –
as the man moved with the rain –
trying to stay parallel.”
The man was abhorrently drunk – shouting at me!
a nobody – a passerby – a pocketless –
at 4:03 AM.
“Fuck you too,”
his words
danced away
with a passing car.
New Orleans really
is a beautiful
city in the
rain.