Friday, April 22, 2016

Poem - dollarfly


“let me know if you need anything”,
said the clerk, from behind a thick
wooden station and black
horn-rimmed glasses. “thanks.”
the hat store smelled of wool
and leather, and i quickly found
found one that suited me. 

i needed a new hat because
my favorite porkpie had been forcibly
removed from my head by a
mighty gust of wind that almost
caused me to wreck my bike in the
middle of Halloween traffic down at
Decatur and Canal. It took my hat into
the street and tumbling down a block
in a perfect line, and finally under
the tire of a utility truck.

i walked out of the hat store,
bag in hand, into Jackson Square.
i put the hat on, and looked around
at the artists spread out under the oaks.

on this day, the sky was clear blue.
New Orleans was taking on her
“land of dreams” personality, the
one that inspired so many songs
back in the days of Storyville and
the other red light districts filled
with ragged bands and toothless
pianos along North Rampart St.
and Claiborne Ave.

that’s when i saw her. a little girl.
i’d never seen her before, and
she was seemingly unaccompanied,
sitting behind a tiny table in the
shade by the iron fence. she had
a handwritten sign that said
“dollarflies $1”.

i walked up the table, and the girl,
who i figured to be about nine,
looked up. “would you like a dollar fly?”
“yes”, i stammered, "sure", and fished
out a crumpled dollar from my shirt pocket.
i handed her the dollar, and she folded
it in Origami style, in the shape of a
dragonfly, then handed it back to me.

“wow”, i said. “but, what should
i do with it?” i asked. the girl said
“carry it with you until it flies away.”
i wasn’t quite sure what to say to
that , so I said “ok, thanks”, and
walked on. i looked at the dollarfly,
and gently put it in my shirt pocket.

that’s where it stayed, as i went
about my business, and went to get
my bicycle. i had a piano gig to get to
down on Iberville, so i was working
my way up Royal St.

nearing the corner of Royal and St. Louis,
i slowed down. a lone violin sang sweetly,
in the hands of a man in a weathered top hat.
and as i approached, i recognized the
melody to La Vie En Rose.

i was overcome by the loveliness of
the scene, and realized that i just
had to throw a dollar into the violin
case, although i didn’t really want to
stop. i was late as it was. still, i
reached into my front shirt pocket to
see if i still had any random dollars.

i felt the dollarfly then, and pulled it
out with my right hand, still slowly biking.
and just as soon as i did, a gust of
wind arose, and it took the dollar fly
from my hand. it flew to the right, and
in the blink of an eye, landed in the
violin case. the busker said a little
“thank you”, without stopping, and i
rolled through the intersection and
down the block. and as i rolled past
the silver and the antiques in the windows
at the opulent end of Royal, i thought
about how strange it was that the gust
of wind that carried that dollarfly
hadn’t affected my hat at all.

Adventures in Hipster Heaven

Stu's Adventures in Hipster Heaven. Vol. 1

So in New Orleans, there are a few of these
post-Katrina hipster eateries, and a few times
I've tried their "tapas" and such, and usually I
leave unimpressed by the food or service, and
go on with my life. I just tried one that's been
on my list for a while. 

I went in, sat at the bar, placed my to-go order,
and waited. There was one other couple there,
also at the bar. They were standard hipsters: guy
had the short hair and beard, girl had a the 50's
librarian outfit. They were in their late twenties.

So the bartender asked the couple "where are y'all
from"? I pretended to read, but I was curious.


"Oh, yeah?" said the bartender. "I used to live there.
What part of town?"

The couple responded, and named one of the city's
richest areas. Unable to hide her surprise, and at
the risk of embarrassing the couple, the bartender
blurted "What in the world do y'all do for a living?"

Clearly taken aback, the two tourists glanced at
each other, then the bartender. Then the man


There were a few mumblings after that; something
about one of their parents. But my food came, so
it was time to go. Having been on a fanatical
diet since Ash Wednesday, I had ordered a
Veggie Burrito (what could go wrong?).

When I got home, I opened my burrito, and began
to chow down, only to realize that my burrito was
filled with steak. Big, fatty, globs of gristly red meat.
Allow me to emphasize one fact: the couple was
already eating when I got there. My Veggie Burrito
was the only order in the place.

It was then that I felt an old familiar sense of relief.
It's a relief of knowing that you haven't been missing
anything. It's also the relief of knowing that you
won't be tempted to spend your money at some
new shiny place in the future.

So overall, I enjoyed my trip to Hipster Heaven,
but tomorrow night it's back to home cookin'.