i saw a homeless man
fidget with a twist tie
the way i fidget with my rings
crossing bourbon street
alive with the fare-thee-well
of sober times.
with weak conviction,
i admit the stars crossed one of us
and cut the other a break.
we are both drunk,
we are both merry.
we are embroiled in the microcosm
New Orleans has to offer
one day a year, guilt-free.
he jingles his cup for coins
and i show my tits for beads
and i will be bedecked in glitter
and jewels,
and he will sleep on the stoop.
but we both find our shoes drenched
in the mysterious gray waters
that plague that street tonight.
with the guise of my beads
i feel like a queen
but it would make no difference
if i were a homeless man
fidgeting with a twist tie
on bourbon street,
jingling my cup for coins
and sleeping on the stoop.