a slim man laced up with gold
glistening against a tanned chest
white teeth flashing
in a broad laugh that never
quite sets in those eyes
green as storm air
static over the teche
at sunset…
a woman smoothly fit in
against his muscle
talking a storm away
watching her sister dance
alone by the man in white silk
and capped teeth
and gold ring on his pinkie…
.
boudin gumbo
etouffee cook odors:
like touching the bayou.
styled hair dried in straight edges
and eyes outlined with pencils
and look at them
a dancing town of two hundred souls
shaped by iced gin
one hundred degrees
not one of them sweating.
the crowd balances the drink.
am i the only one standing
still waiting for the song
to split, for backdraft liquor
to hammer a hole
through veneer…
.
foreign against the fecundity
catching a wink
that crawls through my skin
like catfish whiskers.
watching the black man
stirring the pot, stirring the pot,
nodding with his gaze
locked down to a button.
and the college boy home
on a hot break checking hips
of a black girl
propped on the gallery staring
vacantly motionless
at dark water stagnant below.
.
why all the dancers
speak, smoothly accented,
no pidgin no slang
i wonder that.
why the blue eyes of a dark man
laugh when I catch him
watching me smile
at a woman’s slit gaze
stalking a daughter
hung on the hip of her father:
why that.
why that boy with the french
tongue worries the borders
of dances, not dancing.
I wonder
why.
orphan poems 