'Twas the Night Before Katrina (cajun style)

(Author Unknown - found via the internet)

'Twas de night before Katrina, when all tru da state
Not a gas pump was pumpin', Not a store open late
All da plywood was hung, on de windows wit care,
Knowing dat a hurricane, Soon would be dere.

Da chilren were ready wit deir flashlight in hand
While rain bands from da hurricane covered over our lan
And Mom wit her Mag-lite, and me wit my cap
Has jus filled da battub for flushing our crap..

When out on de lawn, there arose such a clatter
I sprang from da closet to see what was de matter
The trees on da terrace, and de neighbor's roof torn,
We feared we'd be dyin' in dis terrible storm.

Wit a little wind gus, so lively and quick,
I membered quite clearly our walls was not brick
More rapid than Eagles, her courses they change,
And she whistled and wafted and surged all the same.

Off shingles! Off sidings! Off rooftops! Off power!
Down trees! Down fences! Down trailers! Down towers!
On da street of New Orleans, she continued to maul,
Screaming Blow away! Blow away! Blow away all!

As da wind ripped and tossed da debris tru de sky,
I peeked out the shutters at the cars floatin' by.
So go to the attic my family did do,
With a portable radio and some batteries too.

And den in a twinkling, I heard on da set,
The end was not coming for a few hours yet!
As I calmed down da kids and was turning around
Tru de window it came with a huge crashing sound

A tree branch it was all covered in soot
De wind blew it smack-dab on top of my foot!
A bundle of twigs now lay in a stack
And my Livin' Room looked like it was under attack.

De wind how it howled, de storm very scary,
Meself and my family were all very wary.
Da dangers of hurricanes are serious ya know,
Dey are taken for granted as Betsy did show.

Wit da winds dying down and da danger beneath,
I noticed my tool shed was missing its sheath
So I grabbed my last tarp, and nailed it on down,
Den I got in my car and drove into town.

Da traffic was awful and stores had no ice,
My 5-gallon cooler would have to suffice
Generators was scarce, not one left in town,
Dere was trees on da roads and power lines down.

FEMA arrived, although dey was late,
Electrical crews came from every state.
I sprang to da car, and gave my family a whistle,
Den away we all went like a Tomahawk missile!

You could hear us exclaim as we drove out of sight,

"The heck wit dis place, Texas seem just right!"

New Orleans Night Before Christmas

(Author Unknown - found via the internet)

'Twas the night before Christmas, and in the Faubourg
At the edge of the crescent, no creature stirred.
Under the shroud-like blue plastic from FEMA
That flapped in the wind in the wake of Katrina,

Nothing was hung by the chimneys with care
Since chimneys and roofs were no longer there.
The houses, abandoned for trailers or Texas,
Were circled with watermarks, branded with Xs,

And in them no sugarplums danced in kids' heads,
For no little children slept snug in their beds.
On this night before Christmas in Faubourg-St John
Where time had stopped dead, while the world carried on.

Then, lo, from the depths of what once was my garden
(Now a wild cesspool of strange hydrocarbons)
Up drift some voices from out of the dark
To compete with the flapping of my FEMA tarp:

"They all axed for you, dawlin'. How did you do?"
"Nine feet of water, and how about you?"
"Do ya know what it means to miss New Orleans?"
"Not enough ersters - or rice and red beans!"

I'm certain of whom this can't possibly be:
It's not the adjuster; it's not Entergy;
With looters gone elsewhere, this can't be a stick-up;
And who can remember the last garbage pick-up?

It's surely not someone from Capitol Hill
To tell me, at last, whether I can rebuild.
I lift back what's left of my old cypress shutters
And peek past the tangle of phone lines and gutters,

And what to my wondering eyes should appear?
Not Santa Claus and his team of reindeer
But, costumed in rubber attire and gas masks,
A long second-line waving hankies and flasks.

Rather than coconuts, beads and doubloons,
This krewe carries gear (and, just barely, a tune).
With wet-vacs and power tools, sheetrock and nails,
Brawny and Brillo piled high in their pails,

They're Superdome faithful, survivors of attics,
Mardi Gras maniacs, Jazz Fest fanatics,
Carnival trackers (from Allah to Zeus),
Believers in Saints (whether St. Jude or Deuce),

Joined by a couple of Dutch engineers,
Some out-of-town builders and church volunteers.
They pause at the dead live oak next to my door
In T-shirts declaring, "Make Levees Not War".

Since ditching my mold-ridden fridge at the curb,
MREs have become the hors d'oeuvres that I serve
So I pass them around with Abita's new ale
When a wrench taps, "Clink! Clink!" on the side of a pail:

"To Blanco," they cry, "She got contra-flow down!
To Nagin, he sure told those Feds and Mike Brown!
To NOLA dot com, CNN, and the Times
Who cut to the quick of the Superdome crime!

To all those who took in our downtrodden folks,
Or ferried them out in their flat-bottom boats!
To Tennessee... Texas... Jackson... Atlanta...
Our Baton Rouge brothers ... and Lou-i-si-ana!"

I notice no Rudy steps up as their leader,
Yet something unseen guides this flock of believers,
A force that transcends rich or poor, black or white,
A light that can steer this brigade through the night.

In a twinkle they've finished the last of the ale
And they hoist their equipment, their masks and their pails:
"On, Comet! On, Borax! On, Spic 'n Span!
"Come (Yule) Tide and Cheer! Come, All, let us plan!

Up, Mildew! Off, Mold! Out, out, Toxic Waste!
Come, Shout! Away, Wisk! Come, let us make haste!
To the top of the water mark! Up, past the stair!
Let the City that Care Forgot know that we care!"

Then to Lakeview, Gentilly, Chalmette and the East,
Away they all marched to a Zydeco beat.
Ere they rose past the tarps, I heard a voice say
"Merry Christmas-and Laissez les bon temps rouler!"