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The King

In a neighborhood born out of yesteryear,
stands an old dilapidated gray clapboard house.
The broken windows held in place
by duct tape. The front door
angled at a curious gate. From
behind a torn window blind, peers
a old woman of about sixty nine.

The songs of yesteryear dance
through her aging mind.
She hums along, remembering
her early girlhood time.
Today there’s nothing left
of those early times, except
her memory of the King’s
rock and roll rhymes.

She’s been in love for fifty years
with a man she’s never met,
but that’s all right, for she
loves him yet.

Her only cherished possession
hangs on her faded flower
patterned wall. A large painting
done on black velvet of Elvis
standing tall.

Her yesterday’s are all gone and her
tomorrow’s are surely few, but she will
love Elvis until her time comes due.

Jackie R. Kays

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The King




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