Elvis ain't dead
"why don't you give me a kiss," said the boy with the ducktail
and I almost leaned across my husband,
his wife,
his band,
the beer
and licked the sweat off his cheek.
Put my hand on his chest,
pushed him up against the bar,
looked him straight in the eye.
Melted against him,
my one thigh between his two,
opposite hipbones touching,
tension building beneath my ribcage.
Closed my eyes,
tilted my chin upward,
moved lips forward
guided only by chance
and the knowing where his lips would be.
Caught the edges of his mouth.
Tasted the cigarettes and drink.
Him.
Instead, I gave the right answer,
my mother's answer,
and I've been thinking about Elvis ever since.
P. J. Meneilly
Vancouver, BC
Have you seen the writing on the wall
Managing Editor:
b stephen harding, Editors: Robert Craig & Christal Steck, Consulting
Editor: Seymour Mayne
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