Grave Thoughts

They're visiting the cemeteries again,
where Monica and I walked before the hurricane.
Hand and hand we strode among monuments and tombs,
kissing and whispering our love.

They stop at the viewing road,
while a guide tells them the tale of
the rich and famous town-folk resting here.
Tour busses charter 50 dollar tours,
75 bucks a couple, buy your own lunch
at Chef Paul's on Bourbon Street.

Bill and Mary from Provo wanted to see a piece
of New Orleans, booked at discount, late last July.
Four and a half months after Katrina,
The paddle-wheeler they were gonna ride up the Mississippi
is a floating hotel for relief workers.
They took the bus ride, to a place
where today's dreams and realities collide.

It was a Friday morning, with stops planned
in Jackson Square at a ceremony
to mark the start of Carnival season,
and a run through devastated neighborhoods,
so they could see both sides of this fair city.

In the Ninth Ward, as the bus slowly rolled
through broken homes and abandon dreams,
a man knocked on the window.
"I just had to tell this story.
I found my momma's body in the house today,
In mid October the police
told me they had to stop searching for her.
She must have washed away."

They're visiting the cemeteries again,
where me and Monica walked before the hurricanes.
Hand and hand we strode through the July heat,
among monuments and tombs.
They peak from tinted glass comfort of a tour bus,
a few words about the beauty
after the terrible scene in the poor neighborhood,
then they roll back to their rich lives.