Inside the cathedral
at the redolent crux
of the busiest
tourist district
of New Orleans
fetally curled right
in the center
of the narthex
lies a man
in mixed clothing
he is quite still
he has the stillness of
those unlit candles
stacked close by
some lit, some not
a Saints cap with
fuzzy fleur-de-lis
has clung in the fall
to his greyish head
keep moving, tourists that way
medics have been called
nobody worry, keep moving
is he dead
who saw him fall
the painted ceiling
with scenes of saints
and martyrs and mothers
draws all camera eyes upward
straight-up noon but chilly inside
this gigantic religious cave where
visitors can willfully mill
photograph the scenes
sit meditatively
Medics have been called
in one of the burnished pews
siren in the distance
O look, honey,
there’s St. Blaise,
patron saint of throat ailments.
We just missed his day…darn…
a man wearing a backwards baseball cap
walks up to the still man
shines a beam of light
straight down at his eyes
walks away
leaving, I see a woman
with two small children
and I want to say Wait
don’t go in there
there’s a there’s a there’s a
guy on the floor
dude on the floor
in there,
might scare the children
but then I realize it won’t
scare the children at all
outside on the steps
of the cathedral
two street comedians
do dance steps before
an enthralled crowd
© 2020 Thomas N. Dennis
Thomas N. Dennis 