Red Beans and Rice Day

calling, the streetcar line
the screeching and groaning
heard calling
many blocks away

in my dreams in other lands

across the miles

and then there's the river's moans
she moans in her sleep and in ours. 

the giant bellowing fish that float
bellies filled and
bellies emptied
with the wealth of other lands

like fat men floating on their backs
blowing smoke rings and
floating with their giant bellies rising above the levee

from the streets we look up to see them floating on the river

one never considers
and then, one day, one does
and it's a chortle of recognition

where we are, in relation to that traffic of steel-bellied fat men
playing poker with their guts at our ports
showing their poker faces to our dollar
and drinking our whiskey

and they are not the only ones.
we know our whiskey glass

mardi gras, jazz fest, hell! plain ole Monday
Heaven ain't got nuttin' on our Red Beans and Rice Day

and the chunky slither of our river
in her clingy glittered dress
magnificent with her undulating hips and curves almighty

i love rising up over her,
and gazing down upon her as she writhes powerfully below me
drawing my gaze, reaching up and tugging my eyeballs
and pushing up the corners of my mouth with her
slinky shiny mass, the view from a bridge, the brooch on her bosom. 

she wraps around the city tightly
and the city around her
tight friction and runoff oil sealant hold them together
now and forever

me and my Bourbon, Royal and Canal-Walking Brethren
St. Charles, mama streetcar, witchie woman
hungover man, whiskers scratchy, Tom Waits voice

mardi gras, jazz fest, hell! plain ole Monday
Heaven ain't got nuttin' on our Red Beans and Rice Day.