MUSTARD TEAR
So ancient Carnival-time creaks around
Hobo, at winter’s nadir –
up & down the copper
serpent-river, ice to Gulf, from underground.
Seigneur Latrobe & son (masonic
architects) glide on
into their slanted lichen
tombs, below the levee. Chronic
exploitations, born of lordly guile
condemn brother & sister
to the poorhouse – maybe
forever (never God’s will). Meanwhile
Mardi Gras Indians from Cajun swamps
tiptoe, sauntering in beads &
feathers, vaunting weeds
beside Big Muddy… spin their vamps,
magnanimous & happy-go-lucky!
As Frazer phrased it once,
the Oak-King was dunce
for a day, scapegoat – to bind three
realms, to decorate the grim
reality of king-dom
(manacled to thrum
of male plumage, sly rhythm
of greed). Meanwhile us tramps lie in our camps
the ciphered segregation
of a riven nation –
the politic paralysis of frozen clamps
*
unbroken for a generation
yoking partisans
of limited taxation
with particles of airy explanation.
Yet lo, Hobo! the sleepy sleepwalker
still reigns under the rain…
King Virbius in blue vervain,
Osiris-man of verby us (dumb talker)!
One lone mustard tear of Isis
flowing down the dream;
knit-wit of Union, seam-
by-seam… Columbia, thy hum he is!
& out of one immense unspoken heart
on its wheel of suffering
flies this foam… a sparkling
shield of steely martyrdom – cart
of churl & Charlemagne, Big Bear,
Charles’ Wain – iron hinge
of Milky Way! Melange
of pipesmoke sacrificial princes, there!
Martin, & Jack, & Abraham…
William & James… lights
winking from Astraea’s height –
sea-foam & flotsam of the cosmic Lamb!
At the edge of the Gulf, at Mardi Gras
Hobo floats to sea, to see…
out of wrath & misery
lamps of justice, liberty – her wings, Noah!
2.23.20
sketch by Benjamin Latrobe
