A World Without New Orleans

Great tragedies befall every generation. The devestation of Hurricane Katrina along the Gulf Coast is one of personal impact on me because my brother (until very recently) lived in New Orleans with his cat Tazmanian Devil, or Taz for short. My brother was forced to leave behind Taz, a black cat, half something, half Bobcat on the second floor of his apartment home. Sadly, I doubt his chances at this point. Though I still hold out hope that he escaped somehow before the flooding reaching my brothers house, it is a grim situation. It is with Taz in mind that I post the following memorial poem. He was a good cat. He deserves it.

Tazmanian Devil stands up to Hurricane Katrina

I’d like to think that at least
you died in your element,
the fury of Katrina’s whirling turbine,
fangs bared, fur raised at the maelstrom
wrenched shingles, fractured beams,
Spanish moss and Mardi gras beads.
Threw vehement hisses into shrieking gusts,
swiped claws at the visibly invisible.

I doubt that this was the case.
Had you stood up to the monster,
you would have been swept helpless
through a shattered window,
lacerated by swirling shards,
spinning towards an oblivion
that you are programmed
to frenzy against with every fiber.

I too am helpless. When the worst past
you probably crawled out from under the bed,
lapped the pooled water from the slats
and listened as the rains abated
while you waited for my brother to come home.
Had the news come, pumps failed, levee gave,
you wouldn’t understand that the water
wouldn’t stop rising. I really don’t either.

*** Please note - although the contrary can be read into the poem, my brother is in fact alive and well and participating in the evacuation of the superdome (he is an emergancy room physician with a minor specialty in helicopter rescue).