it was so hard in those years
growing into my teens
kept on a parental leash
wanting female companionship
without knowing what to say
and how to listen to what was said
>
at 21, I was emotionally aged 14
but somehow was blessed with
women wanting my companionship
and I began the transition from writing
unattainable people’s names in notebook margins
to learning what to say
and when to say nothing—
especially to not overreact
to hearing the word “no”
in New Mexico
on a Sony black and white TV
heard the news that Elvis Presley died
and on ABC late night, Bing Crosby eulogized
in a measured way, not speaking ill of someone he disdained
and about six weeks later, Bing finished his final round of golf
>
Elvis wasn’t present tense in certain people’s minds
since the ALOHA FROM HAWAII special in 1973
but I remember AM radio in Wichita Falls playing
his cover versions of Promised Land and Hurt
and thinking he still can sing
>
I picked up a paperback of ELVIS WHAT HAPPENED
from a drugstore book rack, glancing at certain pages
then deciding not to buy it
thinking it’s probably true but too soon to confront
>
about two months later, AM radio played Elvis singing My Way
and Elvis, approaching the end of his concert career,
prematurely performed his epitaph
>
stream that record or watch the YouTube video
to remember the promise,
the fulfillment and what remains today
watched some of it remotely
then saw some of its faces on, of course, Facebook
some have aged notably
one person now carries a blindness cane
two people I unfortunately remember from when I was younger
and starry-eyed and quiet and wanting to belong
>
some accepted me and others did not
and it didn’t help when I rowed the perceived Wrong Way
I was bullied—people said they were defending themselves
then I lost myself and responded with retaliation—
thinking I was standing up for myself—
plus there was anonymous hazing where others knew
but chose to be silent, perhaps thinking they were friends
or worried over offending a flawed totem they chose to enable
>
I was treated for Multiple Myeloma last year
and, upon transplant recovery, realized how big the world was
also how small today’s celebrated poetry scene is
(remote viewing when I checked didn’t go past mid-two digits)
>
I can’t do anything about a past that, thankfully, is now distant
I can only write hoping someone might read someday
I can watch remotely and appreciate what is good
but I am still painfully aware of who my friends aren’t
and I saw too many of them gathered in Facebook photos
on the grounds of the Los Angeles Central Library
you can shred
you can flush
you can claim Executive Privilege
but you can’t stop Justice
though you’ll distort and fundraise off of this
>
may this be the beginning of the end
of the long national nightmare,
the wrecking ball repeatedly smashing democracy
