Forever Isn't Over Yet - March 11th, 2008

In New Orleans the old spirits still walk
Madame Lalaurie, waving her crusted whip,
And chasing a black girl,
The white-faced soldiers in blue,
Gibbering from their window,
And the sausage maker’s bloody wife
Thumping and flubbering up
From the grinder.
The girl with iron roses still knocks
At the tomb where the harlot sleeps,
And the rented ovens still bake bones
Where long grass waves and lizards skitter.
Tourists are still hurried along
Through the narrow lanes of the dead,
Warned by the guide, “Never come here alone.
Not even in daylight.”

Take your picture quickly and return
To the city of flesh.
Cayenne and onion,
Bell pepper and garlic
Still sing their song
In iron skillets,
Waiting for meat to conjure up
Its own smoky and beckoning ghost.
Under black metal lace
Diners still sip their cafe au lait
At tables that tilt on the broken sidewalks.
Bourbon and rum is still set aflame.
Music still roars on Bourbon Street.
And at night, plump students carry plastic cups
And shout and shimmy, while the stores
Spill light and masks, t-shirts and beads,
Onto dark streets shining with piss and beer.

I hope Marie Laveau still sends
Uneasy dreams to the pale and the guilty
Who toss her a coin,
Hoping for word from the darkness that covers
Those places where we won’t go when awake.