Hey all - I was thumbing through the Carnegie Mellon Anthology of Poetry today and found a poem called "Young Elvis" by Cornelius Eady. What do you think?
Young Elvis
He's driving a truck, and we know
What he knows: His sweat
And hips move the wrong product.
In Memphis, behind a thick
Pane of glass, a stranger daydreams
Of a voice as tough as a Negro's.
But not a Negro's. A voice that
Slaps instead of twangs,
But not a Negro's. When it
Struts through the door
(Like he knows it will), and
Opens up, rides
The spiky strings of
The guitar, pushes
The bass line below the belt,
Reveals the drums
As cheap pimps,
In fact transforms the whole proceedings
Into a cat house, a lost night...
He wets his lips.
Already the young driver is imagining
A 20th century birthday present,
The one-shot lark of his recorded voice,
The awe he intends to
Shine through his mother's favorite hymns.
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