4 SHRUNKEN HEADS Only Marie Laveau herself, the original Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, could appreciate the bitter irony of it all. There she was, in the aftermath of the storm, laughing diabolically as she sat atop her tomb in the Saint Louis Cemetery, beyond the eyes of rescue workers, National Guard troops, FEMA officials, and CNN reporters. Millions of gallons of dirty, toxic water had poured into the streets, filling them up to the roofs of houses. The entire city had been plunged into darkness, except for the eerie light cast from buildings dotting the landscape that had been ignited by chemical explosions, or, in a few cases, deliberately. From her perch Madame Laveau could see all the signs of a city in chaos. She could see the once cherished belongings that were now nothing more than floating debris. She could see the heads of alligators, snakes, and rats, taking advantage of the huge manmade swamp that now connected the canals, bayous, and lakes. And she could see, here and there, bobbing in the water like meat in a gumbo, the bloated corpse of someone who had been too poor or too proud to leave when the order to abandon the city went out. Scores of buildings-- music clubs, grand and small eating places, corner bars that had never before closed, even the houses of sin-- were all shuttered and dark. But that didn’t mean the city was empty. So Madame Laveau could not only see the despair; she could hear it resonating throughout the neighborhoods. She could hear the voices of the miserable souls who had been left behind, sloshing through water or languishing on rooftops. She could hear them calling out to be saved from the rising flood-- or from each other-- before the stifling heat, the putrid air, the relentless vermin, or the deadly pestilence overwhelmed them. How could she not laugh? After all, it was just like the old times, centuries ago. And, like in those old times, soon they would come back to her tomb. Yes, they would all come: black and white, rich and poor, simple folks and city leaders. They would come to seek her favor and her intercession with the heathen gods who had been angrily awakened from their slumber. Tonight’s text has been composed with sadness, love, and hope-- by a Ninth Ward "Yat." I hope y'all are still enjoying the series. Dr Zik

Quote - And she could see, here and there, bobbing in the water like meat in a gumbo, the bloated corpse of someone

hurls  I won't be eating gumbo anytime soon!  LOL