A Funeral March for Charlemagne

Charlemagne "Charlie" Jackson floated by
not once but three times, carried on the tide,
face down in water, his body bloated by
a little too much Bourbon Street. He died
thinking that he could ride the hurricane
sailing his sailboat on Lake Pontchartrain,
with me and the jazz band hanging back on shore
while Charlie blew his trumpet at a roar.

Dumb-ass! We tied you firmly to a post
and marked your forehead with a quarter-note.
When FEMA cuts the body loose, your ghost
will walk in the music of the blues you wrote!
But Charlie, I can write your last refrain:
Don't dance with Katrina on Lake Pontchartrain.