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"The Quarter"

I was a nine year old product of loins,
Flying through the French Quarter on my gold minibike.
Narrow cobblestone streets,
iron grilled balconies shadow my passing.
Knock! Knock ! Knock!
goes the hooves of mares pulling buggies
past Bourbon Street bars, shows and peeps,
streets crowded with visitors, "From where!"
"I don't know!"
Mardi Gras merrymakers,
plastic coin takers,
ON MY TURF!!!
Ceremonious adherence to custom.
At home on the Bayou,
I scrub ashes from my forehead,
wondering about the ambiance of "The Quarter!"
as I race out the door to ride hurriedly through narrow alleyways.
Memloch, hemlock, nightshade, costumes and masks
raid my vision as wind catches hair,
I speed by and bells toll,
at lovely Jackson Square,
artisans paint palettes bare,
canvas depicts scenes while others stare.
Oh, the smell of French coffee, gumbo, jambalaya,
powdered beignets and sweet river water perfume the air,
with hawkers peddling goods aggressively,
impressively,
making the ambiance of "The Quarter!"
I tear down the levee's high stoned embankment,
wheels kicking up gravel,
Mississippi riverboat croupier yells,
"Black Jack!!!"
couples dance,
children play while Dixieland blues
rock my chaotic rhythm with its improvisation
on the dim streets of
"The Quarter!"

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