Homeward Bound

I sit here in the Cafe T, eating gumbo.
Outside, Mardi Gras. The beat of the
Music throbs in my blood. My feet,
Of their own accord, tap out a rhythm.
The hot Creole coffee is sweet and strong.
I think back to Texas,
Bitter early morning coffee on the farm
In my hometown,
The flannel sheets warm against the
Morning chill.
Each night, potatoes and collard greens.
Mom hushing dad, warning him about
Big ears listening.
I'm brought from my reverie as my
Friend gives my shoulder a slug.
He motions outside to the jostling crowd,
And says we're missing the action.
Thoughts of home slip away as the night
Air of New Orleans strikes my face.