Another New Orleans narrative

took a few days off from the

everyday drudgery and toil

Saturday night 

my wife and I stayed outside the city

hung with a buddy of roughly 25 years

it was nice to catch up

we are all getting old

a weathered and battered

version of what once was

…so is rotting

leaving the hotel to see him

my gun fell to the elevator floor

I literally shit a .38

I knew it was going to happen when

it dropped to my crotch area

I say, “sorry gentlemen, I’m a

concealed carry holder.”

I look to my wife

“I thought you clipped it to my belt.”

Luckily there were no kids

or ballpark moms in the 

elevator at that time

only a half-drunk ballpark

dad swaying, saying,

“I’m a permit holder, too.”

as well as a large

‘I know it all’ type personality

who barked, “I’m from Texas,

that shit don’t bother me.”

followed by their contrived talk

of firearms for the next 8 seconds

once in the car

we laughed like loonies 

later that night 

we had 2 spinach salads 

with no spinach


we attended Zydeco fest

we stood and sat in the sweltering 

humid heat under a cypress tree 

listening to French-Cajun music

her glistening and me dripping 

we walked to the creole tomato

festival in the French Market

a festival dedicated to a 

fruit disguised as a vegetable

heard rather blah versions

of both jazz and blues

we perused vendors from afar

peddling mostly mass-marketed wares

a literal cooking as the 

national heatwave intensifies

casually strolled past numerous

seemingly dead people on the street

we stop to admire a building 

with spectacular architecture 

as a man’s cocknballs hung out of

his gym shorts as he lie 

sleeping or dead in the entryway 

it turns out

it was the Supreme Court building 

Sunday night 

while waiting on a

food order to be ready

I had another drink I did not need

less than a block away from 

leaving the restaurant 

the bottom of the the bag gave way 

spilling red beans and

gumbo on the wretched sidewalk

drunk and pissed

a condoling onlooker ‘awed’ a

sad face as I salvaged what I could

you can’t cry over spilled gumbo

you can however

drunkenly curse and fume  


we partook a guided tour

the only legal entrance 

to St. Louise #1

one of the oldest above ground

continually active cemeteries

dating back to the early 1800’s

dragging and smothering

triple digit heat index

sweating profusely 


I didn’t take a photo of

Marie Laveau’s tomb


there is rich history there

as well as the literal 

faint smell of death

during one stroll through the city

we noticed a large family of 5

bust into a sprint down the sidewalk

we thought it may have been the smell 

of urine or feces or possibly 

a dead addict on the sidewalk 

but they were only trying to catch 

the St. Charles streetcar

Tuesday night 

we attended a

show at Preservation hall

a quaint and intimate experience

jazz musicians putting in work

geniuses in action

as I begin this piece

12 stories in the sky

sirens scream and howl

someone somewhere 

is fighting to live

or fighting to die

You can’t see his penis from this angle.