Shrouded by a persistent, creeping, billowous fog, the world seems smaller, quieter. It’s almost cozy in this cocoon of clammy mist. Almost.
He liked the spice in Monday’s red beans and rice;
Jambalaya thrilled his taste buds, too.
He’d go out of his way for a café au lait;
Even a bowl of gumbo would do.
Yet, he’d an appetite for a certain delight;
One you can’t find in a roux.
No. Po boys or crawfish weren’t his favorite dish,
But a tasty New Orleans tart that he knew.