Is this the city you see?

by Zarah C. Moeggenberg

There is a bah-bah-babbidy bah bah whispering from various corners of New Orleans.

Even the street cars have rhythmn.

The violinist cries to the tap-tappity of a simple drum while the guitar dives tenaciously into The Beatles’ “Let it Be.”

…and so I let it be

Even the garbage that is fermenting in the sewers, the salty air, and spray of doughnuts float interchangeably into the music of life in the sensuous town.

Umbrellas dance, they twirl, they cascade in place, in street-side tables.

The buildings, they reach for the sky as people scurry across constant streets.

Night is humming fast.

Lights flicker on and the beauty seeps from the color that is New Orleans.

Some of the guys on the trip get some pastries from Starbucks to feed a homeless man who is now digging through the garbage in the corner mall.

…It’s Service Learning

He smells like piss. Not just any but piss soaked in jeans that makes one itch just at the scratchy smell.

He is hard fabric, crusty Velcro that stings, burns nostrils.

…and after wolfing a meal of a mocha and doughnuts he breaks out into a jazzy sinister anger that comes like a stringendo and then made s tenacious arpeggio of jargon

that makes sense.

The storm isn’t over.