There was a hot rain streaming to
heaven onto cobblestone streets. Misty
warm baked sun breezes blow
steady like the sax man, blanketing
the city from work worn docks up
to the statue in Jackson Square.
New Orleans offers dreams beneath
magnolias and rattling frontons.
Broken souls sleep off the city on street
cars where its bells ring to raise the dead.
Men wear wide ties and dirty stained
shirts while woman fan themselves
from an all day sweat while sporting
flowered hats.
Ocean nor river can wash the blues out
of folks living the Crescent City.
Roger Singer 