Doctor Grandma

New Orleans

We watch him make a coin disappear

Into thin air,

The magician entertains us

Not in a fancy nightclub

Or at a show we bought a ticket for,

But on the street in Nawlins,

Where he earns his living

Collecting money in a hat,

A cop on motorcycle

Interrupts the show

Beeping his siren, clearing us away,

The magician, irritated,

Quickly wraps up,

reminds us to contribute,

he steps to the curb,

Where now appears

On the street where he was standing

A parade! – for no other reason than to celebrate Spring,

Strutters strut their stuff

While playing ragtime music

Marching past with drums and trumpets,

They wink as we catch the beat

start moving to the music,

while Kings and Queens and children

Hand out flowers to the crowd,

I collect my own colorful bouquet,

Some real, some imitation,

Then the band goes by, and we join the end of the line,

Climbing into the street,

we strut our own stuff

on the streets of New Orleans,

dancing, strutting,

we join the grand parade.

Cfblack            3-27-2012

This entry was posted on March 28, 2012 at 1:05 am and is filed under poetry, vacations. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.