those blue suede shoes

I get in line
for a lobotomy at
the local
insane asylum, I also
sign up
for three electro shock
therapy sessions.
you pay for two, but
get the third one
for free. I get the Sylvia
plath special, which
cranks the volts up extra high.
the line is long,
but it's been one hell
of a bad year
psychologically and I could
use some serious
cranial zapping. it's well
worth the wait
if I can clear my
mind of the last 365 days.
just shake and clean
the whole thing up like one
of those etcher sketch screens.
I meet napoleon and
Moses in the queue,
both have a cup
of coffee
and a scone, which they
refuse to share.
mary Magdalene
and
joan of arc are there too.
love the robe, joan
says to mary.
silk? oh, this old thing,
she says. something I found
lying around in the tomb.
as the line slowly moves forward
we have a lovely conversation
about the world
at large, about our
love life, our
work, our children
and parents, how they didn't
hug us enough.
everyone laughs when that
comes up.
so what brings you here,
I ask one of several Elvis's
standing there
in his rhinestone
white jump suit
and a hound dog
at his side, ah shucks mister,
he says.
same old, same old.
i'm bluer than my shoes,
he says. just plain blue.