deepundergroundpoetry.com
elvis, a friend
Elvis, a friend.
Into my café, a young man who combed his hair
Elvis Priestly style and naturally got the nickname, Elvis
He didn’t mind; the name gave him a purpose in life.
The young man, let’s call him Pedro, developed an air
Of fame, when he entered my café, he sought the table
In the middle of the room and greeted everyone.
Even his mother addressed him as Elvis.
In a flash, thirty years had gone time has no mercy
Elvis wore a shop-bought toupee and had gone fat
Fond, as he was of Napoleon cakes.
Elvis died, as Priestly did, in the bathroom; his mother
Agreed, to write on his stone, Elvis, “Pedro” RIP.
Into my café, a young man who combed his hair
Elvis Priestly style and naturally got the nickname, Elvis
He didn’t mind; the name gave him a purpose in life.
The young man, let’s call him Pedro, developed an air
Of fame, when he entered my café, he sought the table
In the middle of the room and greeted everyone.
Even his mother addressed him as Elvis.
In a flash, thirty years had gone time has no mercy
Elvis wore a shop-bought toupee and had gone fat
Fond, as he was of Napoleon cakes.
Elvis died, as Priestly did, in the bathroom; his mother
Agreed, to write on his stone, Elvis, “Pedro” RIP.
Published 30th Mar 2023
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30th Mar 2023 2:52pm
