Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

A. B. Jackson

Elvis

Elvis

Elvis

High noon, Graceland:
the risen Elvis
rolls away his rhinestone,

his burger, his Vegas.
To the few, he croons,
the gold lamé

spirit upon him, heavily
sideburned in black leather
or whistling Dixie.

Gretsch guitars twang:
the End of Days
follows on that note,

our saviour a surf song,
the flooded sand.
Close

Elvis

High noon, Graceland:
the risen Elvis
rolls away his rhinestone,

his burger, his Vegas.
To the few, he croons,
the gold lamé

spirit upon him, heavily
sideburned in black leather
or whistling Dixie.

Gretsch guitars twang:
the End of Days
follows on that note,

our saviour a surf song,
the flooded sand.

Elvis

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