Remembering July in New Orleans

The minutes drag and slow to just a crawl,
their tired legs turned rubber, and their hands,
so used to crisp precision, mime a drawl
that stretches seconds out like rubber bands.

Each sound becomes a dopplered wave, each sigh
a whirlwind swirling echoes in its wake;
and even the sweet words of lullabies
rasp in the ears like dried leaves ‘neath a rake.

Beneath the skin, each vessel like a drum
begins in low vibration keeping time
and with a dull, lethargic creep drones on.

Through air grown thick and stagnant standing dumb,
their wings beslimed, ideas fight to climb;
and then the moment ends, and they are gone.

08 DEC 2004


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