To Mr Rice,

Keep on scratchin’ dem boards, sir

Fried catfish is slowin’  me down
all thanks to you
butterin’ those beans with the spicy hot

beer for the sweet southern smoke

hoofin’ poems off in the Treme
humbled amongst the greatness.

You put your arm around me
sat to chat to brag about your ghetto

Educating white folk in America’s first black hood
pimping all the horns and soul ladies in your family.

“Working,” as you say.

Your handshake is of a man of character
a person behind the persona

but you gots to go.

You spread some love to this Yankee,
“New Orleans is family…
Your other cities always makin’ ya look over your shoulder,
but we look out for each other’s here.”

Keep on talkin’
and keep on making that noise, Mr. Rice…

Keep on makin’ dat music!

af

(written after two nights with Mr. Rice)