the day the music died

when Elvis

died,

i thought that might be a good

excuse

to call up Kathy

to see if we could reconcile,

maybe weave in

a little sympathetic

small talk.

can you

believe it, i said on the kitchen

phone.

the king is dead.

who?

she said.

the king of England?

no, no.

Elvis,

you know.

you ain't nothing but a hound

dog,

hunka hunka burning

love.

don't step on my blue suede

shoes?

Elvis.

oh, yeah, sure, i remember

him.

you had some of his records.

that's too bad.

maybe he ate too many banana

and peanut

butter sandwiches.

oh well.

i have to go now, there's

another

call coming in

and i have to go iron

some clothes.