the rhythm of my new orleans is kept by it's beating heart
the sound of an empty can scratching down a lakeview alleyway
sparrows hopping through the open-ended clothesline T
the creaking and scratching of broken, beaten metal on the rail road
the bugs crashing into the concrete of the levee, where the crashing and scratching meets
the rhythm, a clean, clear beat, is chased by the broken rhythm of our too-well regulated pulses
the even beats of a chopper, dancing above a sea of lost hope and regret
We take the defibrillator paddles and jump it back into rhythm
pump it full of music, the sounds of lake splashing
canal wading
the hidden side to new orleans, the side only seen after firm residency.
the rhythm of my new orleans is more than a tourist shop can provide,
more than a parade can throw,
more than the yard of booze in a hand grenade
its the music i've been running to since i was three, the music i've been living by, the music i will always live by.
Megann, age 17
