| Watrerfront Watch
smoke, sky trails.
the tug turns, squirms,
then steers upriver.
the wheat has to move.
mouths must be fed.
but with all that commotion,
you’d think a warship was out there.
today no sun.
the somber air is thick
but the foul sky has passed.
I watch a gull poke blood thirsty
into the glistening waves.
in life nothing dies easy.
our vessel split,
hit rocks,
pieces and more pieces
till the waves washed over us.
what could we salvage?
all we could do was
watch our ship reach bottom.
today dockside,
the gravelly air is good fellowship.
scrubs me clean.
the cool breeze clears my tears.
I feel loose, full of imaginings,
like I'm a fish dancing with the tide.
I flash on a red skirt right ahead of me.
interesting. those shiny buttons
are like coral colored jewels,
declarations of beauty.
she's tall. I like those curls.
our eyes meet. our thoughts crisscross.
what's she thinking?
she's picture perfect loveliness.
moves slow they way I like.
yeah, my story has new verse.
the good fire has grazed my lips
and I smell pasta.
somethin' is rockin'.
I'm back.
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Elvis
they screamed sing sweet daddy, sing.
then crawled towards the stage to get at him.
he didn't invent rock 'n' roll.
but moved his hips as if they were oiled.
his pink Cadillac eyes,
and greased back hair became engraved
in America's storybook.
the King of rock 'n' roll kicked a modern nation
out of its drab boots,
and made innumerable angry moms and dads.
today, ghost sightings trickle into the air waves.
haunt his fairest followers.
Vegas impersonators line up in detergent clean
white jump suits to sing as keepers of the faith.
last week, downtown,
I saw a sign Church Of Elvis.
it hung by an old brick building.
his glass face glittered.
his chin was a coin drop.
fans still dance to his fabulous deep voice.
hearts still rise and fall to his tones,
his notes, cries, confetti and moonlight sweetness.
I hit the post office that day,
then went back to my little crash pad,
a cheap ground floor studio.
within minutes, clad in hot pink,
with bushy sideburns and blue eyes,
a figure peered through my tiny window.
suddenly he lifted his six string, curled his lips
and sang, "That's All Right Mama."
I jumped from my seat. gave chase
but he was gone in a gallop.
I called the press screaming "he's back."
they said: "what have you been smoking?
too much of that will kill you."
Graceland said "how old are you. is your mama there? "
Everybody's Music Store said: "get a life."
days later my therapist said:
"next time get his autograph.”
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