If you look to the left, you’ll see the Big Easy—
a green body sprawling 30,000 feet below.
It’s where ocean meets sky,
where water spoons its longshore decks
and rippling iron gates. When the city whistles,
rain stipples its lips. It doesn’t care whom it sprays.
More rebel than Satan in his leather jacket,
the city isn’t a heartbreaker, offering the whole of itself,
water and all, a perfect lover, through sassafras,
stoplights, and levees. Through the window
you see the city’s alchemy—unzipping
like the side of Christ—oil and water
and blood, which aren’t so different
to its sinking tenants.
