Huge capital letters on a
newsagent’s board:
ELVIS DEAD – handwritten in black
felt-tip –
And I gasped as I headed to Chadwell
Heath railway station.
“What? WHAT!” I thought in my own
capitals,
“How can this be true?” Beyond moody
blue.
I felt like throwing a sickie, going
back home,
Smashing an LP to pieces, finding a
sharp end
And slitting my wrist, I was that
pissed.
They didn’t even try to break it to
me gently,
Just BAM!! Right there for all to see. Heartbreak.
Later, after work, watching the news
and pictures
Of scrawny Elvis, beautiful Elvis,
fat Elvis,
I saw the beginnings of him, the
wonder of him,
The decline of him, that rotten rock
and roll thing,
A complete and utter waste of a
king.
No comments:
Post a Comment