| Watrerfront Watch
smoke, sky trails.
the tug turns, squirms,
then steers upriver.
the wheat has to move.
but with all that commotion,
you’d think a warship was out there.
today no sun.
the somber air is thick.
I watch a gull poke blood thirsty
into the glistening waves.
in life nothing dies easy.
we sang. had stories.
but our vessel drifted.
struck rocks. the hull split.
what could we salvage?
all we could do was
watch our ship reach bottom.
today, dockside,
the gravelly air teases, feels good.
new faces, a few pitched trees
and my slender look
give the air a courtly nod.
the breeze scrubs me clean, fresh.
my tears have flown.
I feel loose. imaginings
of what could be begin to play.
I flash on a red skirt straight ahead.
interesting. those shiny buttons
kick with glitter,
like coral gemstones.
for a second she chops me up.
yes, like a crashing sea wave would.
our eyes meet. our thoughts crisscross.
what's she thinking?
no doubt I can declare myself alive.
her long reach warms my heart.
she's picture perfect, a lovely blossom.
they way I like.
yeah, my story has changed.
the good fire has grazed my lips.
I smell pasta.
yeah, I'm back.
feisty me is back.
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Elvis
they crawled towards the stage.
cried sing sweet daddy, sing.
he realigned their love cries.
transformed their thirsty longings.
made them tout I am yours.
snare me.
mothers and fathers hated him.
his sexy blood hooked young headlights,
he spoke from the thighs, unashamed.
emotion shot out like a fountain.
his pink Cadillac eyes,
raucous radio sound,
and greased back hair became
part of the American storybook.
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.
I know fans still dance to his soft slow sound.
moan and cry when their hearts go far afield.
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, a blue-eyed
figure peered through my tiny window.
he lifted his six string,
and with a pleasurable look,
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: "smoke too much of that and it will kill you."
Graceland said "how old are you. is your mama there? "
Music Millennium said: "get a life."
days later my therapist said:
"next time get his autograph.”
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