------------I--------&
--------------am----no,
--------------the---not
---------------guy you,
----------------who
-----------------can
------------------see
-------------------all
--------------------the
--------------------rot
--------------------and
--------------------the
-------------------bad
------------------men
-----------------who
----------------lie
----------------and
----------------try
------------to pass it
---------off as pure truth.
--------I have lived in the
------shadow of the Big River
-----all of my days, and I know
-----the scent of the sea. I know
---rivers, lakes, bayous, creeks,
---marshes and swamps and canals,
--oxbows, borrow pits, and oceans.
---I have hiked the levees of the
----muddy Mississippi, peed into
----its currents, and crapped on
----its banks. I have been and
------am still a fisherman in
-------paradise. I have been
--------through hurricanes,
----------Now I don't know
---------if I should vent
----------or just go mad,
---------as once again we
---------are in the way,
---------and told it is
---------our own damned
--------fault for being
---------such dumb fools.
---------I remember the day
---------our Paulie, then age
----------four, fell into the
-----------Mississippi River in
------------a final, nearly fatal
-------------attempt to skip a rock
--------------more than three times.
---------------We'd finished our throws
----------------and I said "Let's go now,"
-----------------and we turned our backs,
------------------heard a loud splash, and
-------------------found Paulie in the water
-------------------clinging grimly to a small
---------------------patch of rocky ground his
---------------------feet swaying in the eddies.
---------------------We pulled him out okay and
---------------------made a conscious decision not
---------------------to tell his mom about it, no
---------------------need to scare her with a thing
--------------------that did not happen. We kept
-------------------this secret for fifteen years.
------------------Many years later, I found a
-----------------brass bust of Shiva, a god
----------------of rivers, in a curio shop
---------------in the French Quarter. His
--------------hair was all snakes, and I
-------------found his stern glare was
------------interesting. The price was
-----------right, so I bought him and
----------took him home, and hung
---------him on our living room
--------wall. Everything then
-------turned immediately to
------crap. No money would
-----come in, and no new
----work could be found,
---so quarrels ensued.
-Then one night over
--Sunday dinner, the
--tale about Paulie's
---dip in the big river
----was revealed, and his
-----mom, who was born in a
-----Snake year, was angry.
------She said we should have
-------told her about it right
--------away; she would have, as
---------would any wise Buddhist,
----------have set up an altar at
-----------the point of his entry,
------------burned joss sticks and
-------------offered flowers to the
--------------kind river god for not
---------------taking away her child.
----------------No wonder, she told us,
-----------------that Paulie had been so
------------------beset with psoriasis and
-------------------adolescent obesity; the
--------------------god of the river wrought
---------------------his revenge on Paul for
----------------------our rude lack of thanks.
----------------------I thought about this for
---------------------many days, and I was well-
--------------------determined to make amends.
-------------------I took the Shiva with me
------------------downtown to the same spot
-----------------where Paul had taken his
----------------plunge. I clasped Shiva
---------------between my palms, and
--------------I bowed and kow-towed
-------------ten times, giving the
------------god of the river our
-----------thanks for sparing my
---------son, adding my true
--------apologies as I asked
-------for his blessings.
-------Then I hurled the
-------Shiva into the big
-------river as far as it
--------would go, and watched
---------it splash into the deep
----------water beyond the eddies.
-----------Everything then took an
------------sudden turn for the better,
-------------but my wife said I was silly.
---------------I worked the tugs and crew boats
----------------as a youth, through the canals and
-----------------in and out to the massive oil rigs
------------------we supported. I have seen injury
------------------and death come from mankind's
------------------pursuit of the almighty crude.
------------------The man-made canals were a
-----------------large part of the intrusion
---------------of sea water that caused the
-------------------levees to fail after Katrina
-------------barely touched New Orleans;
------------but, through the greed and
-----------short-sightedness of our
----------so-called leaders, most
---------of The City That Care
--------Forgot went under ten
-------feet of water, and we
-------wonder still if anyone
------cares, as much of Haiti
------is being re-built faster
------than is New Orleans East.
--------So now we have an "oil leak"
---------in the Gulf below the mouth
----------of the river due to the cheap
-----------Charlies that run Blimey Petrol
------------and the rig-wrasslin' cowboys of
-------------Holy Burton. This "leak" made an
--------------oil slick bigger than Rhode Island,
---------------but where is the hue and cry like
---------------we heard for the Exxon Valdez? Of
--------------course, that was pristine Alaska
-------------shore-line invaded, not a grubby,
------------trashy, Louisiana waste pit that
-----------has nothing to offer but gators,
----------swamp rats, and mosquitoes
--------"as big as birds," according to
--------one Alabama ass-clown's Net
--------missive. Oh, wait. The winds
--------are shifting. Mobile Bay and
---------the Emerald Coast are next.
----------You may have to cancel
-----------your trip. That is a
-----------real catastrophe, so
------------eff the shrimpers,
------------fishers, crabbers,
-------------processors, and
-------------vendors at the
--------------butt of the
---------------food chain.
----------------Your fish
-----------------sandwich
------------------you want
-------------------fresh,
--------------------nice
---------------------and
----------------------hot,
-----------------------and
------------------------so
-------------------------do
--------------------------I.
© John Lambremont, Sr. 2010
-----
John Lambremont, Sr. is a poet living in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. His poems have appeared most recently in A Hudson View (2010 Pushcart Prize nomination), Notes from the Gean, Boston Literary Magazine, Foundling Review, Poetry Quarterly, The Fib Review, Shot Glass Journal, and Raleigh Review. He enjoys modern jazz, adult baseball, and writing country songs.
John Lambremont, Sr. is a poet living in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. His poems have appeared most recently in A Hudson View (2010 Pushcart Prize nomination), Notes from the Gean, Boston Literary Magazine, Foundling Review, Poetry Quarterly, The Fib Review, Shot Glass Journal, and Raleigh Review. He enjoys modern jazz, adult baseball, and writing country songs.
