Cajun Crawfish
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.
The 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.