Sun Beats over New Orleans
A poem
Sun Beats over New Orleans
I took a stroll past Jackson Square
today, just as the out-of-tune bell
commenced its daily lunch call.
The first chime rung out as two
young lovers stole a kiss beneath
the low hanging branches of a live
oak tree. Three marked the horse-drawn
carriages as they clip-clopped and stomped
down Decatur Street. Four tourists ambled
by with their fresh beignets as the fifth
bell sounded. With the sixth chime
came a soft breeze off the Mississippi
River, the only relief from this seven
day streak of midday July heat. Eight
artists stationed by the wrought-iron
fencing made their finals marks on bright
city landscapes as the bell called
out, striking its ninth chime. The flutter
of wings drew my eyes to the sky, as ten
mourning doves made their daily rounds
above Andrew Jackson, his hat forever
tipped at everyone that passes, his mount
reared up to greet the day. As the eleventh
bell sounded, the sun peaked out from behind
pearly white clouds, casting shadows barely
large enough for a field mouse. High-noon
came at last, with a final, echoing clang
that expanded outwards across the square.
