Aghast on Bourbon Street
Surreal, frenetic, black like brandy,
brown like Kailua.
“Let’s take a walk,” said my brother.
A pleasant evening stroll, I thought.
My first night in New Orleans, crescent moon
carved out a witch’s brew of sauntering bodies.
Haunting me like a Halloween night.
I watched the howling grimaces on faces who
created a wrangled sense of time, place.
A semblance of reality, theirs, not mine.
Plastic boobies stuck on a man’s shirt
glared towards me as he passed. Shrieks and cries
of drunk men and women brandished their ways
towards one another, a mob in movement.
Air gets tighter with stench of too much
strong cologne, liquored breath, cigarette smoke.
Full moon reflected this so strange street.
Bodies shown with clantily clad clothes.
Silver pendants hung down to belly hoofs
like horses feet.
I came away with vison of a timeless place.
A speckled moon that gave rise
to this timeless vision.