In the South, In the North

by Peg Lauber



The grass here is strange paradise to northern feet.

Stiff, it explodes into green when we aren't expecting it

remembering it as greening up much later.

All over town they turn the fountains on again.



If there's one thing they've got enough of,

it's water. Dig down a foot and you have it,

even though brackish, and in the summer

no cold water comes out of the tap no matter

how long you run it. In every yard there's another

explosion in January, camellias, pink, deep red,

white, and we not a month past Christmas.



But up north the frigid season crawls on, takes its time;

even in April and May it's still snowing and sleeting,

then comes hail as winter turns to summer

in one day: 90 degrees. Here, however, people eat sack

lunches on the dull green trolley with red touches still

bearing Christmas garlands over the controls at each end.

The riders open the windows to put their elbows out

while they take the long ride to the end of the line

returning to Lee Circle and Canal Street,

the trolley car whistling and dinging.



Soon St. Charles Avenue, the regular route, will be filled

with high school bands and marching feet, arms waving,

voices crying, "Throw me something, mister," to those

on the floats, as the lines and trees above are decorated

with gold, purple, and green beads, the royal colors of Rex,

against the blue void we call sky.

  Full disclosure...just back from a few days in New Orleans to see my girlie girl. Details to follow once I can see the computer screen over my Creole shrimp filled belly where the good times roll right over the waist of my pants. She's doing great by the way :>)   please note: photo of Oak Alley Plantation