i remember decatur street in august-
it was hot, then,
and dry-
we walked along through the quarter and into the marigny-

i remember rainfall in june
down on banks street-
it feels almost flippant to mention it now,
but the rain came down hard that day
and well into the night,
and we had nowhere to be
and too much to do
and our shoes got soaked,
right up until it was time
to get in the van
and drive away-

i remember decatur at night-
humid, dripping
with sweat-
walking the narrows
with an eye out for those
who make decatur their home-
the drunks staggering-
decatur judged them harshly
while we walked and smiled
(like we knew better)
just passing through town-
decatur just laughed-
the joke on us,
we were there too-
we were there-

where are the hustlers?
the ones i remember with hungry eyes,
looking for unfamiliar faces
and the outline of a fat wallet-
where are the hustlers today?
on buses, helicopters, trains-
on their way to texas?
wandering flooded streets,
floating trash cans full of bread?
preying on tourists-
praying on stars-
no more easy marks
between the bars-
where are the hustlers?

no shoes need shining tonight-
not a brass band distraction-
and where’d you get those shoes?
where’d you get those shoes?
man,
you can have them-
at least they’re dry.