Flippa



When Katrina came calling,
Lady Blues brought some 
Miami Hurricane bad news
Green Dolphin Street pain parade
went Mardi Gras wind marching
down to the delta swamp of Nawl ‘Leans
And the lewd crowd’s demonic gust marlin friend, 
Flippa,
was cyclone seen: mid-air, pirouette dancing again

Creole zydeco drown sounds
were Bourbon Street booze gurgling
in the sinking French Quarter ...
by decadent, stormy weather order
At the party intersection main,
to the outskirts of perishing parishes,
weeping souls 
were being swamped by watery suffering
And Flippa 
was Roll Tide reveling
in the Louisiana groaning casket ebb
of the Mississippi moaning funeral flow

Flip of the coin ... 
more than a fifty-fifty chance
there ain’t gonna be no smiley rainbow
Flippa fin kick in the loins,
every wet dress and soggy pants
gon have a dry bone, teary lip memento

But don’t worry ‘bout burying 
any swamp gator sins
no shovel Swing Low time soon
French Quarter pleasure palaces
got Viva Las Vegas revived,
and is now riotously celebrating

Temptation is on the Skeleton Key hunt again:
Papa Justify and Sista Mamasouku
is chanting charms for some killing voodoo  
Fly-by-night mourning fishers flesh baiting,
looking to put more grieving 
Red Clay perch on the sacrificial FEMA altar

Shrunken vitality heads on a grill;
sitting bereaved, stone-cold still 
in a drunken stupor
Sloshed in saline pain they can’t ignore

Da outlaying Slave Quarters
don’t know how dey gonna git safely thru
One thang’s fer sho’,
Missy and Massa ain’t gon take care of you

Flip of the coin ... 
Good versus Evil
is the foreboding, tempest tuna grin
every Flippa-style
broken smile
gotta frown struggle with from within




 

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




Post Comments
Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.