2002-08-12 - 7:55 a.m.
they took you away
from your shack in tupelo
you wanted to be a star
they told you not to worry
you would be a God
you shook your head in disbelief
and your mama watched it all
with quiet pride
always worried
about what would happen to her precious
one
bespeckled in jewels
sweating sweat that was prized as gold
you still shook your head
in disbelief
but handled it all with a king's charm
you were still that boy
from the shack
Elvis,
I'm sorry for what we did to you. We "ate you up and spit you out" as we were taught to do by our culture, the culture that you helped to found. I hate when people make jokes about you. It makes my skin crawl to think that nothing is sacred in this culture. You were only an entertainer that did the best he could to keep us happy, and all we can do is make jokes about the many cheeseburgers you ate and the numerous scarves that you threw out to your adoring public. Why are you mocked for your gifts? Why can't we just concentrate on the beautiful pure voice that emitted from your golden throat? Your voice makes me think of Dixieland, of America, of Mississippi mornings drenched in mist and Tennessee sunrises. Your smile makes me want to cry. I wish we could all still be as innocent as you were. I hope we never rape another human being the way we raped you blind. (I know we will)
Yours Truly,
Michael
