Dis here is Nawlins
in all its funk
and jive
and stink
and rhythm,
pulsing endlessly
from bars,
cafes and
corner joints,
calling without cease
to seduce you,
my underprivileged
out of towner,
into the den of Easy.
Every smile,
every come-on
every to-go cup
bids you
throw your societal
prudishness
to the gutter
and flow
with the muddy
mother river.
This tide
of sweaty humans
sweeps you
down the street
momentarily cleansed
of all your past.
What you gonna do
to remember
this strut,
back home?