Runcible Spoon

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Legless Louisiana


You wouldn’t believe the heat.

The way they pile the drinks on

as though every bartender

is given a shovel.


And it’s a swamp heat.

Nothing like it.

Everything mortuary still

with humidity.


They open the sluices during flood

season, but it is never enough.


And down on Bourbon St.

the smell of stale ass

is everywhere.


Riverboat captains dressed as

slutty nurses by the Central Grocery

along Decatur.


And I find myself legless.

Falling into the street at half

past ten in the morning.


My hands sticking to pavement.


A ring of beads around my neck

where my shirt used

to be.