Rain in New Orleans

All day it came down like bullets, so heavy
and so fast it seemed an imitation
of rain. Taxis stalled

in the narrow streets, buildings and people
suddenly far away, grainy as
ancient photographs. The museums

swelled and the music slowed to a waltz.
Tourists rushed by in bright summer clothes,
one-page concert programs creased

and creased again like overstuffed match-
books, their dime-store umbrellas
collapsing like broken corsets.

Brass bands huddled together like criminals
under wind-frayed awnings, and tap boys
danced shirtless on every corner,

sinewy as copperheads, solid as railroad iron,
so frantic, so furious that neither
wind nor rain could touch them.

Greg Watson is always an exciting read. He writes from the soul, a gifted soul wise in the ways of poetry. If you're in the market for "workshop poems," this is not the place to look. --Albert Huffstickler

41 pages/$9
ISBN 1-882983-69-6