NOW
Taste of catfish,
An amber ale.
The sound of rustling palms
On a cold day in NOLA.
The wind blows the outdoor fans
No need for electricity
Outside the Uptown Cajun.
Waiting on a misty evening
to capture the red framed windows
in a golden haze
on Maple Street.
2PM
Igors, on St. Charles
Sometimes life puts you in the strangest places…like Igors. A Bloody-Mary, a chili-burger, a cigarette, a few games of slots, maybe one of pool, and don’t forget to put the softener in before its too late. That’s right, a city that combines all the necessary essentials, including the football game on TV. Laundry, drinking, smoking, gambling, gaming, television and food. But it’s the laundry that always gets me. Laundry. As soon as you wash it and take it out its technically dirty again, dirty with the smell of the smoke and the chili burger, and its very possible, you might spill your drink your on it as you are inevitably drunk by the time the spin cycle is done, writing poetry.
2133 St Charles Ave (Cross Street: Jackson Avenue)
New Orleans, LA 70130-5320
(504) 568-9786
Ode To a Barmaid
She limps
In a town of debauchery
24 hr drinks
slips from her lips
as she serves
a hurricane, “to a pregnant lady?
Or is she just fat”
At The Mental Laundry
Poem by Rob Signom
At the mental laundry
I was in the spin cycle
And no bleach or softener
Could cleanse my heavy load
And me being wet will
Slowly tumble dry
To be folded crisp
And stored on the shelf
Until the annunciation day
If I shrink and am too tight
Or dry too hot and crack my silkscreen
I’ll only get that lived in look
That is so expensive these days
No comments:
Post a Comment