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Corduroy Lunch

by Mark Maxey

on the corner near Canal Street
I saw his stance...glare...anticipation
some new prey to willingly beat
and his clan/tribe of gyspys were shunned
New Orleans in it's finest

Corduroy pants and suspended black pants
ran the streets while I had my lunch
you never saw my stares or my senses
while you gracely pulled off your stunts
cordory lunches savoured in mindless flow

I imagined you resting inside a horse drawn wagon
painted murals of renassaince flare
evening meals shared around a campfire
as the days booty were collected

Several days of searching I found you again
cat and mouse I am sure it was called
I was the young hungry artist savoring
what you fed me by your actions
somewhat secretely wishing to join your clan

another day of pickpocketing play
begging for money when your pockets were full
running from the cops and victims you preyed
a lil sister running close behind

Corduroy lunch eating benaes and sipping chickory coffee
wondering how you existed or where you might end up
I knew I was going to college but then again
your knowledge would outsmart any Harvard professor
but soon I must part

but in mind
hidden deep within New Orleans aura
is an asethetic renassaince revelation
kept hidden for me to unravel
maybe a song, a poem or novel if I am lucky

but it is you who are lucky
to live free with no concern
fly onwards my cordoroy muse
someday I will find you again

11/26/2006

Posted on 11/26/2006
Copyright © 2024 Mark Maxey

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 11/29/06 at 01:57 AM

Graphic depiction of the conartist "pedaling his wares". It can look like an attractive lifestyle if you don't look too close!

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