Katrina

The story was simple:

Katrina loved Jazz...

The cymbals, the sax

Were all merely symbols.

The eye of the eagle

Met the eye of the storm.

The cry of the people

For the city had formed

A new wave of sound

That rose up to drown-

Out the drums and the bass.

She was dazzled and dazed

By the blues, by the riffs

Of the weeping guitars,

By the crumbling roofs,

And the howling alarms,

By New Orleans in water -

By this modern Atlantis

That was soaked in a tear

And washed off the atlas,

By the scene on the canvas

Where clouds were smeared.