I appealed to him dressed like a lady –
in skirt, blouse, curly perm.
A New Orleans local chauffeured
me around town, rattled on
about his life. He bought tickets for us
to hear Clifton Chenier, great Zydeco player.
Car backfired over a loud muffler.
Fire ignited under the hood. I bailed.
He muttered something about driving
his car home. Handed me the tickets.
I stood on the curb laughing.
Watched him zoom down the road,
fire smoldered upward
from cracks under the hood.
Smoke billowed out the back end.
"THANKS FOR THE TICKETS!"
Enjoyed myself listening to Clifton Chenier
at the downtown night club. Shook my buns
that night with two handsome tourist guys.