Up Beats on Bourbon Street

"I saw miles of devastation
that Hurricane Katrina left
behind. This one stole a little
piece of our souls when she
blew over our town.

I've been through the eyes of
three hurricanes", he said, "the
first one was a killer named Audry
back in nineteen hundred and fifty-
seven. She wanted everyone dead.

I saw my grandma out in the storm
trying to close the chicken coup door
when a sheet of tin jetted inches
from her head traveling a hundred
miles an hour...with relentless power...

Between the back porch and the
shed...then the waters slowly began
to rise right before my very eyes. I
knew in a matter of moments we
would all be dead. It would all be
over.

Seven of us were hunkered down
in the attic. When the water rose the
chickens drowned, along with the
cows, goats and half-dozen pigs. We
were trapped like rats along with the
rats. We zagged when we should
have zigged.

Grandpa managed to bust a hole
through the roof as the water kept
on rising down below. No one in my
family died that day and by God only
heaven knows...

The reason we have such terrible
events? Is it a reminder of what
happened thousands of years ago?
Great floods don't need a great
expanse to cast destruction on
us innocent folk.

I would be completely remiss,
however, if I failed to mention
this and end this story with some
rather good news.

I saw the jazz players on Bourbon
street today. The beat is on...and
the tempo is up by the way...
and no one's singing the blues.

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