August 16, 1975
Our next door neighbor came to our door
with her hand wrapped in a red towel.
It was Elvis Presley’s death that sent her.
She was in grieving and tried to cheer up
with a big slice of chocolate cake.
Sadly, it was in the freezer, hard as a brick
and the knife had sliced her instead.
My father drove her to the hospital.
I didn’t know much about Elvis then.
I liked his song ‘In the Ghetto.’
Advertised as part of a record set
it appeared during commercial breaks
in my Saturday morning monster movies.
That weekend our neighbor took us
to the circus. Before we got to the big tent
she pointed her bandaged hand skyward.
High above the parking lot, a man ran
inside a cage, tiny as a white dot
with everyone on the ground watching
waiting for him to fall.
Another autobiography chapter.
The photo of Elvis is from Tucker.
He used to take pictures from TV.
There's an adventure with him
coming up next...