25 some odd years ago, this poem was rejected for publication by Grassroots, the literary magazine of Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. I was informed it was “too flippant” which I consider a rather flippant rejection. This is far superior to the first poem I ever wrote. That first one was published by Grassroots, and good thing, too, because it convinced me I must be a poet. I was fortunate when rejected to be secure in my greatness, unaffected by rejection though I still feel compelled to bring it up all these years later. Perhaps I am just insecure and narcissistic enough to become President of the United States someday and I hope my work as an internet troll is sufficient to accomplish that, because it will be so great. Believe me. As another note, I was not nearly as fat when I wrote this as I am now, though as a starving young poet I was not nearly flacid enough to be Presidential. One last note, my wife says I look good in orange. Jackson County thought the same thing after I refused to pay a speeding ticket. But that’s another story.
The Heartland Remembers Elvis
Who could bounce the sweet, fat ball of success better than
When I plunge into a soft chair, feel my gut sag into
E is for everything a King can get away with.
L is to love that extra bacon grease in the gravy
on the biscuits of life.
V is for Vegas, and beating the odds,
like when Cool Hand Luke eats fifty hard-boiled eggs
and doesn’t puke…
he’s the biggest winner in prison doing lonely, hard time.
I is for me, sometimes acting like E.
S is the hiss of final music, your last breath coming out
your mouth like steam, when you kiss the Devil’s ass.