New Orleans

The French streets beat with feet,
In your home in the City of Dreams,
Rubbish and Whiskey from Tennessee

Where it’s certainly easy to do as you’re told
‘Cause Mama would never be so bold
As to bar you from those dirty sinning streets

Where the women open their second-story shutters
Calling you up from the gutters
That stream with bourbon whiskey

Tragedy descended quickly, the rain slows to mist
And the red-nosed aristocracy smile, blessed
On the dark streets that beat with feet

We tripped and skipped bourbon-drunk
Through damp bayou air and cigarette smoke,
Beads and whiskey from Tennessee.

God smothered what we thought He couldn’t reach,
Taught us what the Blues failed to teach
On those uncertain streets that beat with feet,
Lost souls and whiskey from Tennessee

Rachel Boury currently lives and writes in Chicago, IL.