Their skirts shift back and forth
above sun kissed knees,
goddesses on Royale Street.
They come here for fun, celebration,
New Orleans, thick legs and arms,
sweet like powdered beignets,
bitter like chicory in bottomless cups
at the cafe down the street.
Big breasted women
prop up feet on balconies,
watching iron clad Fleur de Lis
swimming down to Bourbon Street.
No one mentions the heat
while humidity fills their hair
soaks them in summer rain 
cast down on curtains of Hurricanes. 
Women with rings around everything 
turn over tarots and foretell 
the fate of each golden leg.