She walks,
Her tombstone eyes
Buried in the concrete
Past New Orleans potholes
From Chippewa Street
Down to Napoleon Avenue
She is the anonymous necromantic
Searching through telephone directories
For relatives and lovers who could steal her ideas
And later ride the St. Charles streetcar
Where old men twitch away the flies
And mumble about corruption.
I’ve taken a ride on that street car with you past desire and the levee before the flood. The street musicians in the town square are the blues most folks only dream about.
I meant Desire, the street car.
nice images, Joie.
Funny how we all search out for lovers to steal our ideas. Truly awesome. My “latest” JC fave!