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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.