Ode to new orleans

By Ryan Gulledge

“New Orleans food is as delicious as the less criminal forms of sin.” – Mark Twain

My two friends
are called okra

& jasmine. My
coffee’s spiked

with chicory. My
second course

I can’t pronounce. My
streetcar to Bourbon

is late. My
chauffeur gave me

some whiskey. My
booze cools in

the grenadine breeze. My
concierge struts

the sax. My
trumpet escaped

down Chartres. My
evening is horse-drawn

buggy on cobble. My
night sky is plastered

magenta neon. My
eyes bazooka

like the moon. My
inhibitions left like

a coat at the door. My
marveling at magnolias
flowing in the morning. My
voodoo soul departing.