Satchmo, of course; the Marsalis family, naturally,
even Ann Rice, and her vampirish underground.
But me living in Louisiana?
You’ve got to be kidding!
I got here on subways and BART trains,
sidewalks, public parks, and noise
made by people, not insects
whining for hours in the summer heat
loud enough to drown out a police siren,
or an ambulance’s wail. Crazy!
Escorted by alligators,
Spanish moss laced on my fingers,
your bride from the morgue,
baptized in the Oauchita River
with its polluted efflusions
from the pulp and paper mill,
blackened by the Gulf Oil spill.
OMG. Black goes with everything.
