BRUNK HOWARD

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new orleans mourning

Well New York storm washed us into a deli

Me an' Peter the Man, well he

Ordered, "Coffee--an' somethin' round".

Y'know, coffee don't stand alone in this kind o' town."

Waiter says t' me, "An' what 'bout you, --hey, hello."

Secret storms inside me make me say, "Jell-O."

Causin' memory to click in Peter the Man

Time ticks as I play catch as catch can.

But not even Joe DiMaggio's 5 finger glove

In deep center field could get a hold of

All those memories whose solid liquid centers

Pray had known less but knew much better

And so Peter's tale has sailed into my memory's letters.

Then spare one heart beat an' one sip of a toast

This memory haunts all my ghosts.

For aristocratic Nora, got dragged down

From a high flyin' bird to the bottom o' town.

Now Nora abided on a three-legged chair.

What I'm about t' tell ya is all true, I swear.

Nora says, " Undue haste brings latent stares

You best not hurry anywhere."

Nora says, "A New Orleans cemetery is a gossamer park,

If you touch your diamonds before dark".

Nora says, "An Egyptian sun is a harvest moon,

If you wear jet before noon."

Well Nora's profane did come in many forms,

Some ancient an' some just born

But the fiery lake of her personal Hell

Was filled with red put under a spell,

That bein' water turned solid into a Jell.

Now Nora's man thought as a joke, "Where's the hurt

If the cook was to make red-fire Jell-O for dessert?"

But what you know best can be what you know least

(Hearts most times can only be leased)

For Nora entered mourning that Sunday lunch

Made a pact with sherry; drank a whole bunch.

Me and Peter the Man with that storm's end

Never did talk about Nora or Jello-O again.

I don't know to this day

If I should be mad or sad or just pray.

I 'd like t' take my order back, I'm always wishin'

But you can't take nothin' back, not in this life, that's what's missin'.