hurricane Lili
a camera flashes,
brightly painted shutters close in Chartres street,
What spirit of this city
Those who dwell in New Orleans
I got caught in the midst of a riot once,
two laughing tourists pose in front of a jovial restaurant employee
who's spray-painting the plywood boards
sloppily affixed over the windows on this Decatur street restaurant:
"Lili, you're a bitch", he wrote,
"In New Orleans we don't run from hurricanes, we drink them."
The scrawled message is just part of the show, the eternal display of New Orleans carelessness--
the wind's blowing the palms astray,
in the Marigny, the only sound is a creaky bicycle pedaling down a dead walkway
an old man is pedaling slowly
the basket of his bicycle is lined with weathered cardboard
and in it sits a fluffy white dog
complacent
stomps gleefully through the storm
dresses up the desperate calm in bravado and reverie
savours the note of dread before the hurricane hits
and thrives on the destruction to follow?
seem to revel in nature's fury
or their own proud ability to accept it;
but I know better--
way down Esplanade, in the projects
A wave of panic slammed into me,
I felt it before the gunshots rang out.
This is no place to be when the big one hits.
They'll lose their nonchalant demeanor,
their drunken gaiety,
and break
like animals.
code orange
After a night out pulsing to the beat of our nation's capital
That night, even the games that distract from games
were off,
This was right after the duct tape fiasco.
well,
i thought that the apocalypse would at least be sacred,
hopelessness settled in
like silt on the bottom of a riverbed.
Speeding among the trees,
hugging the curves of the Potomac,
the Monument jabbing a naked finger against the skyline--
I stared out the window and watched the lights disappear into the distance.
The streets around the Pentagon were empty.
tense.
The beat wasn't smooth. The dance was all wrong.
Yeah, I know. But the people in this city,
they could be among the smartest we've got.
For one stunning moment, reality had almost kicked in,
they had maybe glimpsed a vision
of the Beltway at a standstill
of the waves of panic smashing through the somber streets
they had maybe stopped to think,
they had maybe crossed beyond thinking to feeling,
to instinct and even insight.
i don't want the media infringing on the apocalypse.
americans deal with things through humor.
should the contemplation of the destruction of everything this species has built
be fodder for jokes on latenight television?
revelation, the lifting of the veil, and all that.
i wanted to meet death in a holy place.
I raced away from D.C. on that winter night,
praying for mountains and peace.