thank you very much

you liked elvis.
not the old
fat drug addicted elvis,
even though he
never made
it to 50,
but the young
elvis.
the slender
in shape carefree elvis.
the slick black
hair,
the blue eyes.
the deep
sexy voice.
you liked him.
not in a sexual way,
of course,
but in a man
crush kind of way.
you remember where
you were
when he died, when
he fell off a toilet
in his bathroom,
clutching his artery
clogged heart,
but that didn't
matter.
what mattered was
how he sang, how
much fun he was in those
dumbo movies,
how he loved cadillacs
and his momma.
his lack of musical
ability
also didn't matter.
you remember
when he died,
you were in the kitchen
making a sandwich,
not a banana
peanut butter sandwich
which he loved,
but a ham
sandwich with lettuce
and tomatoes,
onions. the radio
dedicated the whole day
of his music to him.
playing one song
after another,
and as you ate your
sandwich,
you gyrated in your
kitchen, wearing only
your socks
singing along,
knowing every word
to jail house rock,
then teddy bear,
then love me tender.