The Law of Falling Bodies: Poems

Turn and Return

Turn and Return River, cradle where I crawled into my seedy years, Bent as the backside of the crescent moon, You flow wherever you want to, rips and snags and muddy grunts, Overwhelming everything from the squareheads to the peckerwoods. One little sloppy sip of you would make me young again, Dancing with jukebox women in the third bar of La Casa de Los Marinos, Woozy on Decatur Street, before the Lucky Dogs and the drive home, So late and so drunk the church bells were my lullaby. There’s a black man with a saxophone playing “Stormy Weather” Above your banks, while the sweaty tourists lift their lens And push the button down, your good side turned to the Quarter, Ferry cutting a scar across you, barges low in the slow curve. Dirty girl, keeping the gamblers afloat and the chemical tycoons, You spread yourself for me again, always wet and ready, Spooning against the shoreline as the night slides over you, The city spent, every reveler looking for his lost room. 27 • • • ...