ROSY MONDAY INTO FAT TUESDAY

Walking gingerly down Decatur Street whistling a Ragtime melody
Slapping a high five for the Rebirth Brass Band with their pounding Sousaphone
Dancing improvised with a jambalaya aroma drifting from the hearthstone
whetting my appetite as I hear some Dixieland phrases coming from a calliope.
The carnival is cracking with eau de cologne overseas with chocolates flying
while beer is drunk for breakfast with wieners and mustard frying.
Nonetheless here we have it better on this rosy Monday so balmy
making our costumes for tomorrow with some Japanese origami.
Filled with highest expectations erupting boldly on the scene
Shakin’ bakin’ and rollin’ into Big Easy, our sweet ol’ New Orleans
I am charged up with anticipation for Creole jams with a cooking Zydeco.
Listening to Terry Adams and Boozoo Chavis say who’s playin’ ‘dat salami
with Frank Zappa’s funky version of Maurice’s sexy crazy bolero.
Every street band is generating energy with a blistering and electrifying
rhythmical excitement initiating an ambiance of emancipated liberty.
Bursting forth with a gush of contagiousness like blessed Cupid’s arrow
captivating each bystander’s passion hotter than the lava from a volcano.
Coolin’ it down with a Mississippi breeze consumed from the voodoo witchery
which is lurking by Congo Square about to spur out like a wicked tornado.
Bless his simplicity along with his ingenuity our illustrious pianist Toussaint
with Irma and Lee and their expression of congeniality in their delivery.
“Everything I Do’s Gohn Be Funky” rings true as the groove goes on easin’
our temperament so gently as we grin like a Cheshire cat who always says he ain’t.
Then we have the man honored for his influence as he jammed with Cuban paint
our longhaired professor singin’ “Big Chief” for the native tribes as another parade
is marchin’ to Tipitina’s in the north where Loberta is guzzlin’ and sleazin’.
Whoopin’ up a storm and hollerin’ the vocals chords warm a faithless renegade
attempts to upset the apple cart with oodles of sour tarts somewhat unpleasin’.
Plenty of clowns dressed in amber and violet enter through the gate to promenade
and strut with some suspenders and zoot suits with no foreseeable flukes or constraint.
Laughing like sick hyenas for the Quadragesima starts on Wednesday with charcoal
on the forehead with the confessionals full of stories and monkeylike charades.
So for the time being the party has just begun without constables who pigeonhole
their restrictive regulations which obliterate our fun as they twist and taint.
As this Rosy Monday passes on at midnight to our culmination of a Fatter Tuesday
we declare this city of music as the center of the spirit of a latter blues day.
We toast each other as this moment comes only once each passing year
bringing time to a kindly standstill to taste the incredibly lavish atmosphere.
The wild dogs will then howl to the waxing crescent moon
which burns its light luminously upon the dunes and desert
as our sacred prophet prays alone avoiding Satan’s flirts and evil temptations.
Therefore the final day of pleasure before the penance and internal invocation
which carries our spirits further as patience and forgiveness
we exhibit and precious reconciliation we do calmly assert
as our tongues move to the Holy Spirit’s haunting tune.