Jambalaya is rotting on the old stove
as widows embrace ghosts in mouldering alcoves,
N’Orleans, a city of hardship and soul,
entreats with angry, Cajun eyes which emmove,
forever enduring, beseeching, as Creole angels stroll
avenues still exhibiting proof of Katrina’s indifference,
yet its citizens are survivors, each proud and strong,
although many acknowledge politicians only tag along.
There is nothing easy, but its heart is huge
and blues are not unfamiliar to all those unloved,
forgotten are the outcasts who obstinately battled a deluge,
a city unlike the others, born of mixed origins,
may it thrive again, restored, offering the oppressed refuge evermore.
*Poem completed Feb 5, 2013
For David's con/vow contest.