SEEING ELVIS
Some folks see Jesus in a stormy sky.
A woman in Vicksburg, Michigan
saw Elvis in a grocery store.
The cook at Tammy’s Luncheonette
twirls his finger at his temple
when asked about her.
In the late ‘60s,
I remember a man who said
Jesse Presley replaced his twin—
He was Fat Elvis in Vegas,
he was the one pumped full of pills
and died on the porcelain throne that August.
(Jesse born dead was a cover up).
These folks are from good
American stock, who make dolls
out of worn out socks,
turn old stoves into cowboys and angels.
They look you in the eye
when they say they saw The King
hitching down the highway,
or helping the sheriff arrest a drunk
up at Pete’s.
I saw a crowd standing under umbrellas
one time, laying down candles
in front of a bank window
with an image in it.
The news said it was cleaning solution
mixed with rain,
but the crowd said it was Mary
mother of Jesus, and it was a sign.
A girl in a wheelchair
mute and struck as a fan
looking up at Elvis on stage.
