louisiana lawyer

at the concrete crossroads, the haze hanged soupy and thick, like chicken stock stewing to supremacy.

the Louisiana heat stirred the gulf preparing the air, like a wooden spoon in a gumbo pot, churning slowly.

a category four is just begging to be more, a pinch of salt and a dash of cayenne, adds vigor to an unstoppable horror.

electricity in the air thickens the plot, like a good roux, you’ll just have to watch.

the gas station lot wasn’t without its glass trash and potholes, like sausage the trinity and chicken in the pot, the consummate décor for the poor.

the wind swept the dirt from the ground into the air, dusted on your skin like filé just enough notice.

the clean alabaster car spelt malefaction, like the first horseman of the apocalypse, he only knew sin.

he got out the car making himself seen again like a good cancer, he would never just leave.

he came to collect his chattel, like the prodigal son, he is back to ask for more.

sweat drips down your back as your master calls, like a good ole stew, you must wait just a bit more.

Lyle Alford Class of 2022