Velvet Elvis: Bad Art
Velvet Elvis's Temple of Doom

Just my luck,
the most outrageous babe
I've had the chance to hook
up within like years and
she turns out to be beyond
weird. Maybe I'll write my
memoirs and call them,
“Horny Man, Crazy Women,"
it ought to be a best seller
for the title alone. Anyway,
we leave the bar & go to
her place & isn't it lit up,
no lit up is wrong, isn't
the place like some sort of
cave with red lights in all
the ceiling fixtures & aren't
all the walls covered with
pictures of Himself spanning
the whole career from Memphis
Hound Dog years through
the Elvis does Hawaii, I'm in
the army now, all the way up
to, I'm the King in Vegas years.
You can't be anywhere in
that apartment without the eyes
of Elvis on you. Remember that
poster of Morrison from the 60's
whose eyes seemed to follow you
everywhere? This was worse.
I won't go into the bathroom decor
but I will say it's the first time
I ever saw a commode cover
with his face on it & I hope
it's the last. I was going to ask
her what the deal was with
the interior wattage when she says,
"I know what you're thinking,
in this light all the men look
like Elvis." I'm not sure
if I should feel privileged
or freaked. I will say trying to
make some music in the bedroom
was a trip, what with that Velvet
Elvis hanging above the headboard.
I thought women who had crucifixes
with a bleeding Jesus on them &
who cried out His name as they came
were weird but this was ten times
worse. Somehow you knew you were
never going to measure up to
a legend. It's real tough to get
the old engine running with that
in the back of your mind. I consider
myself lucky to have made it out alive.

Copyright 2013,  Alan Catlin

Alan Catlin has been publishing since the 70’s: from mimeos to the Internet. His most recent full-length book of poetry is Alien Nation.

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