New Orleans Street Lights

A lilibonelle, no more, no less

No streetlights create the false twinkle of stars.
Unseen black clouds are racing past a broken moon.
Nothing here except the music of an out-of-tune six string,
accompanied by the mournful blues of a stray dog barking.

Unseen black clouds are racing past a broken moon,
I hunger for a long forgotten warm meal and clean bed,
a friendly smile, or compassion in a strangers face.
Splash of boots and ripple of water against buildings.

Nothing here except the music of an out-of-tune-six string
played by crippled fingers that know the meaning of blues.
I stop, tears in my eye to think the music may never return
to the bawdy clubs and strip joints on Bourbon Street.

Accompanied by the mournful blues of a stray dog barking,
I push on, toward the French Quarter and Jackson Square,
Newspaper headlines talk of rebuilding and government aid,
while I think of finding food and a place to sleep .