The rivers teemed with
enormous freshwater shrimps
but that was Martinique
and I was thinking of Louisiana —
backroads strewn with sugar cane,
your swampboat cousin at Atchafalaya —
bless you. We'd both caught colds
from running in the rain across New Orleans.
Z'habitants, écrevisses, ouassous, crawfish —
whatever you call them, they're so good
we could push the boat out, every night
and every morning
sleep late, talk, turn the boat around,
head for another shore.