On Frenchman Street I Fell Down and Smiled

I notice that my shoe lace is 

undone as I sit down on the kerb

and listen to the street band

blow and pull faces of exhilaration.

I could tie it now or just smoke 

this cigarette as the sun sets sharply

over my New Orleans and worry 

about the consequences later.

I trip and fall to my knees often. 

It’s noted and laughed at by many.

But this city accepts all my troubles.

Here, it’s always swing time for dyspraxia.