I walked the streets of New Orleans
near the famous Bourbon Street.
I went in a 24 hour diner for breakfast.
As I drank my coffee, I looked around,
glanced at the bulletin board,
casually looked down the counter
at the young man who'd taken my order
and was now talking to a regular customer.
The curve of his back confirmed
the muted news of the bulletin board,
this was a gay diner on the boundary
between tourist land and that
of those on an extended journey.
The young man was friendly
and I was a respectful tourist
as we spoke though the felt
but unseen fence that marked the border
between his country and mine.