Fortuitous Poem by Tom Stoppard

The train slows
Crawling through the French quarter of the City on the Delta.

The sun hangs like a copper pan
Over boarding houses with elaborately scrolled ginger bread eves.

In the red-lit shadow of wrought iron balconies
Octaroon Loreleis sing their siren songs to shore-leave sailors,
And sharp-suited pimps push open saloon doors,
Spilling light and ragtime to underscore the cries
Of old men selling shrimp gumbo down on the levee…