There Are Evenings in New Orleans

There are evenings in New Orleans,

Ones I’m more used to in October,

But now it’s March.

You can’t see stars, but the moon’s yellow-gray in the fog.

The breezes blow warm and cool

Depending on their mood.

I hear music. Maybe from the nearby restaurant.

Maybe from a marching band about to appear

For a celebration I don’t know.

The air is as soft as a blanket

I could pull up to my ears.

I would fall asleep here,

But I’d wake up shivering and wet.

I salute the night with whatever I have in hand,

And go home.