Yes, this poem may be lame, but I'm all caught up with NaPoWriMo. It's hard to concentrate when the Red Sox take a three-game series against the Yankees!!! Priorities, after all.
I invite you to scroll through the week, as well as my Poetry Thursday entry, and comment on past NaPoWriMo posts.
Elvis at the Airport
This kid was cool in the uncoolest of places
trapped between here and there.
His long, lanky legs extended into the aisle,
head propped up by his fist on the armrest.
He looks younger than I thought he ever could,
25-ish, younger than ’68 Comeback Special Elvis,
This is Elvis before This Is Elvis,
before he really knew how cruel life could be
before the swivel would leave his hips
before Nixon left and the hostages came home.
before the Wall came down and the Internet went up
before he was everywhere.
Impersonator or real deal,
he’s an airport angel bumped from his flight.
Sideburns like wings, he slouches
in a too small chair in Cincinnati
on route in this place full of comings and goings.
I ask myself—what’s that expression?
You can’t make a comeback
unless you go away.