nola tender_square a pink bachelorette shirt speared by a wrought-iron fence becomes a defeated flag outside harrah’s. on a corner of cobblestones, a smattering of french fries near the french quarter. beads lift and list on balcony banisters like spanish moss from mardi gras two months ago. i suck powdered sugar from my fingers and sip on iced coffee cut with chicory. a sneaker-wearing tap dancer in a wife-beater claps and cries, “c’mon, throw me a dollar.” the humid air is heavy with horse shit and diesel, competing storefront stereos and yappy tourists, and the bit of breeze off the mississippi slaps my face like an open oven. in jackson square, tables of psychic readers arrange themselves beneath beach umbrellas and i want them to study my palm, consult my cards, and warn me of what’s coming. 220516 what's it to you? who go blather from