From the end of Canal Street,
looking across
The river to Algiers and McDonogh
and Whitney,
I ponder the sun's gain and loss,
And whether the weather will suddenly
hit me
With sheets of rain and fists of wind
Like Monday evening when we rode
in a jitney
Through flash-flooded streets where we
grimaced and grinned
At the faces of folks who were fleeing
for cover
Or wading through puddles, clothes soaked
or bare-skinned,
As thunder and lightning made good
to deliver
More buckets and barrels and tubs
of rains
From voodoo tricksters in the sky where
they hover
Invisibly, risibly, dancing the pains
Away with the torrents flowing in streams
And spouting like fountains up from
the drains
Until the night came down with its
dreams,
A blanket of gray hiding the stars,
And a new moon with clouds shrouding
its beams
Until Canal Street woke up and streetcars
Began to travel their ancient tracks
And workers began to clean the bars
Of Bourbon street, the trash in sacks,
The sun not seen. But now, a day later,
The dawn is getting through these cracks
To smile like a grinning alligator
Or like a gold-toothed voodoo boss
Or a crazy sunrise poem creator.
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