Esplanade Avenue

Mid morning Saturday.
Begin behind the restaurant.
In a block of unremarkable houses,
on a porch in the sun.
From there:
The movieset village bustle of Bayou St. John
The complicated shadows of winter oak trees shimmering
The crowd lingering, laughing at Tastee
The cigarillo smokers trailing clouds
The bus stop waiters peering up the street, from in the street
The rich, heavy smells of Manchu in the air
The changing of the guard of corner beggars
The indignation of insanity, loudly stated
The smile from an old black woman, blasting soul jams, in her little car
The dog walkers dangling plastic bags
The dude doing tai chi in a muddy circle
The construction site apocalypse, and all the dust
The cigarette butts, and beer cans, and takeout trash
The traffic, horns honking, bumper to bumper
The gutterpunks, shoulder to shoulder
The tourists, wandering this way and that
The city scene challenging thought with reality
The thousand interactions in the instant between eye contact and acknowledgement
The balconies wrought against the sky
The flagstones rocking in hidden puddles
The leaning walls of brick, left and right
The flood gate
The River
The Gulf
The Ocean