Cajun Crawfish 

by Nikos Laios

With a digital drawing from Nikos Laios



The dry leaves 
Washed down the 
Side of the street,
Scraping the 
Illusions of their 
Separateness.

img_1654_the_silent_cosmos_400The sky 
Weeping,
Wailing like a 
Plucked blues 
Guitar,as his soul
Soul curled in
The corner of
The room 
Like a cat.

The blinds
Flapping 
Rhythmically
In the breeze
To the sound
Of jumping
Bass and horns
Of some obscure 
50's Jazz record,
As the needle 
Hissed and 
Scratched 
Like a guilty 
Conscience.

While the 
Cajun crawfish
Sizzled in the pan;
The aroma of 
Cayenne pepper,
Mushrooms,and 
Bay leaves wafted
And mingled
With the cheap 
Perfume
The brunette 
Wore.

As she 
Lingered
On the bed
In her silk
Slip,blowing 
Cigarette 
Rings in 
The air,
Trying to
Avoid 
Smudging 
Her thickly 
Painted 
Lipstick;
As she played
With her 
Bra strap,
Occasionally
Glancing 
At her
Watch.

The rapping 
Rain punctuating 
The silence,as the 
Afternoon became 
Pregnant with
Possibilities;
Both sanguine,
And cynical 
At the 
Same 
Time.

They were 
There,yet
They weren't;
They inhabited
The same room,
Inhabited the 
Same space,
Under the same 
Creaking 
Ceiling 
Fan.

In this seedy 
Room,in this
Seedy town,
In this seedy 
World;frequently
Sharing each 
Other's bodies;
Attempting 
To unify their 
Souls.

Yet,he felt 
The reality 
Of his solitude,
Embraced
The monastic 
Journey of his
Soul; for only 
By accepting 
The truth was 
He finally set
Free.

As the dry leaves 
Washed down the 
Side of the street,
Waking them 
From their
Revery:
Scraping 
Away the 
Illusion of their 
Separateness.

He 
Pondered 
The possibilities 
Of his new choices;
For he realised
That he was not
Born into this world,
But came out of this
World.

Like the trees,
The Flowers,
Or the leaves
That wash down 
The side of the street;
On this Cajun 
Scented 
Afternoon.   

 OVI Magazine