“Graceland”

 

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-20)

Three o’clock in the morning.

I cut a slice of Banana-Nut Bread from my sister, a perfect compliment for morning coffee. Even at such an early hour. Then, sat on my porch bench. Something relatively new, constructed by neighbors from leftover wood I had brought home with my F-150.

The moonlight sky looked peaceful. I reveled in that moment of solitude. A communion of coffee and self, and evidence of greater purpose. But then, a nagging sense of need tugged at my ear. Damned duty, or desire, or determination. It would not let me rest.

I needed to write.

A story posted on social media, a day before, spoke about vandalism at Graceland. Notable for having been the home of Elvis Presley. I tried to sip my beverage and nibble away at the baked treat. Yet palpable guilt for ignoring my muse became overwhelming.

Dammit! Damn it! Damn!

Finally, I went back inside. It took no more than a few seconds to awaken my computer. What followed was quick and intense, a burst of wordsmithing after hours:

Graceland under attack

Hound-doggin’

Bullfroggin’

Little Sister don’t you do

What the interloper done

Look up at the sun

Smoke and debris

For you and me

Can’t you see

Everything plays out, eventually

Spiritually, politically

Memphis ain’t that far

From Washington, D.C.

Thank yuh

Thank yuh very much

We’re out of touch

Elvis died on his throne

Weeping willows

Adorn his home

But in the new age

There’s a poet on stage

Ripped and roaring

Never boring

Spray cans at the ready

A message in Krylon

We’re moving on

The Colonel might sell trinkets

So we don’t forget

But today there’s only sorrow

Comments careen from the flat-screen

Bang!

Pepper-spray from one side

Bang! Bang!

Frozen bottles from the other

I love you, brother

Miss hearing ‘Love Me Tender’

On the jukebox

Everybody rocked

But in this house of hard knocks

There’s a message on the wall

Not written in tribute

But as a gripe

A groan

A growl

Listen to the moondog howl

Suspicious minds

Awake to find

Slogans, sloppy

O’er your old jalopy

Cadillac, take me back

Cadillac, pink and black

They struck the favorite son

The hip-shaker, the money-maker

The chosen one

Sideburns and jumpsuit

Harvested like low-hanging fruit

This is truth

Squeezed out like toothpaste

What a waste

There’s graffiti at the gate

Dead since ‘77

Long ago joined the band

In Rock & Roll Heaven

But there are voices at the gate

Raised, restless, rough and raw

Like the cackle of a Macaw

Breaking News:

Someone pissed on the Blue Suede Shoes

Carl Perkins gets justice

Copycat gone stiff

Tupelo Honey

Straight from the bee

That’s the reality

Headline on the newspaper

‘Graceland hit by protesters’

Drooping, drowning

Emotionally downing

My mood over a plate of southern food

Catfish and hush puppies too

Does this sound crude?

Heartbreak Hotel

Makes my eyes swell

With tears

It’s been so many years

But mischief, thou art afoot

Chimney clogged with soot

Rabble roused

News networks pounce

Time to let it out!

We’re going to shout!

Elvis Aaron’s bones lie in state

While children get busy with pressurized paint

No more whitewash

Oh, my gosh!

Let the aerosol fill that wall

With sentiments about the government

Middle finger

Wagging from the spray can

Wagging at the man with the spray-on tan

Erect to project

Dismay from

The outcast suspect

Who shall we elect?

No votes cast today

Just spray, spray, spray

Finger the nozzle

The air full of chemicals

Prophecy fulfilled

Elvis has already been killed

But they’re at his grave

Mining gold in primetime

Pundits, prophets, poets

What a plot twist!

‘Kentucky Rain’

We’ll sing that one again

The King met Nixon

For a badge and a gun

But now look what they’ve done

This is worse than Orion

Confederate generals got their due

But now they’re coming for you

Proud Presley

How do we love thee?

Let me count the ways

From the Louisiana Hayride

To the tributes at your gravesite

What a change

At your home on the range

Don’t bother knocking

The jailhouse is rockin’

The air is thick with politics

Listen, children, what’s that sound?

The man from Memphis is going down

Colors fly, in the night

Stand on the linoleum

With a cylinder of Rust-Oleum

Let’s have some fun

What’s done is done

Spit in that baby face

That saint of grace

The Guitar Man deserves a handclap

A backslap

A chortle and cheer

Though he is dear

To keepers of yesterday

And the eternal flame

Hunk of Burnin’ Love

And a white dove

Moody Blue

I see you!

Spun at 33 1/3

Wings outstretched like the night bird

Have you heard?

Dead lives matter

On a solid-gold platter

Drop the tonearm

Needle to the groove

Nothing left to prove

Time for the evening news

Rubberneckin’ in his coffin

Record spindle poppin’

For a fool such as I

Too famous to die

So let them write

My, my, my

I finished just before six o’clock. My cup cold and empty. Dog slumbering away in the corner. Now, the creative spirits had been satisfied. I had given my offering. My tune-in to their vibe. My moment of delight, riding the power-glide.

Now it was time to go back to my bench.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

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