Way
up Magazine Street,
that’s
how you said it: way up
for
up the river from downtown
and
the French Quarter and actually
I
think it was Tchoupitoulas Street, was
the
place for bands and music, F&M Patio
(no
one said Fump & Manny’s), where
no
one checked for IDs for beer but
you
had to show your driver’s license
for
mixed drinks, until the night
of
the police raid (someone forgot to pay
the monthly fee?) and we tossed
the
drinks and I boosted my date up
the
stone wall surrounding the patio
and
pulled myself up after her and we
jumped
to the other side fortunately there
were
too many of us to chase down and
they
forgot to cover the back of the place
and
good thing too because my date
was
the daughter of a federal marshal and
I
wouldn’t have wanted to explain
to
her daddy why he had to post bail so
we
ran to my car and drove off through
flashing
police lights and six blocks away
when
we stopped being scared we
started
laughing about how fast we climbed
that
stone wall. F&M reopened a few weeks
later
and we were back.
This is another poem in the series about
growing up in the South (New Orleans, to be specific in this case), suggested
by my friend Nancy Rosback at A
Little Somethin’.
4 comments:
I.Love.This!
ditto what megan said...!
Makes you feel like a teenager again. . .
Who would have thought?! :-)
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