Monday, February 17, 2003

The man who suckled Elvis

The man who suckled Elvis
never spoke a word about it
Fate just brought them both together
and respect made him a silent partner.
This was back when Nixon was the one and
Elvis had put on some weight,
his come-back starting to lose steam
He was a giant of a man
come downstairs to the hotel kitchen -
Gaylord Opryland, the finest
Nashville had or has to offer -
It was four am, the place
was dark and dead and Elvis wanted porkchops
drunk and lit up, speedy, weaving
His boss had told him to tell Elvis
Sir we’re just fresh out of porkchops
couldn’t find a single one
we even checked our competition
We’d be proud to serve you steak
It’s warm and tender, like your voice
Elvis gazed toward the man
his winedark eyes filled up with tears
leaned up against the man and wept
The kitchen was evacuated
no one wanted to stand witness
to this grand emasculation
Elvis and the man alone
the man was blessed with sagging pecs
his bitchtits a humiliation
Elvis, weeping, held him close and
lowered him onto his knee
his face pressed tight against the rayon
of the stranger’s rented shirt
He breathed his sobs upon the breast
that burgeoned near his famous lips
familiar, ample, warm with comfort
his mouth sought out the veiled nipple
The guy did not know what to do
so he just stood, his arms extended
awkwardly
not daring to disturb the King
who held him, sobbing on his breast,
and sucking on him through his shirt.
This went on for several minutes.
When at last it stopped, the King just
sat, his head turned to the side,
his ear against the wet spot
on the man’s white blouse.
Then Elvis hove a mighty sigh,
he cleared his throat,
and told the man, “I don’t
much want that porkchop now.”
With that, he left the darkened room.
Neither of them ever mentioned
what went on between them then
to anybody anywhere. 
In fact, I made the whole thing up.