The Bywater can be Dark and Eerie at Night

In Sound Cafe, and on posters stapled to telephone poles around the Bywater, I read about one girl who got shot riding her bike home. She was not from New Orleans. She had come down to help with the recovery efforts. Bad form, I think...to shoot someone who is trying to help you.

I worry sometimes too...when we are riding after dark. My mother says she will not cry for me if I get shot. She has warned me this is a bad neighborhood. I try not to be self-righteous in my defiance. It's hard, though. This is the land of the free, so I should be free...

free to ride my bike...
with no thought of danger...
except that the back break doesn't work...
and the tire is all wonky.

My mother-in-law reads about murders in America. She is Swedish, and there aren't too many murders where she lives. She wants us to come "home," where there is safety and health care and snow. She doesn't want to lose us.

We are living in the wild, wild west...
where people batten down the hatches...
and angry, drunk voices scream out in the night:
"I oughtta pop a cap in your ass."

We ought not to be popping caps in each others asses.
This is the south, people.
We ought to be polite...
and say "Howdy do,"
and "pardon me,"
when we are riding our bikes
in the middle of the night.

This is who we are.