Last night, Elvis returned
from the far side of the moon
and met me in a small town
where he once performed
Heartbreak Hotel.
I remember hearing it
as a student visiting
Battersea Fun Fair
with my university friends.
I wonder if they recall
laughter as we slid
down the Rotor walls
feeling sick and cold
the music blazing
through the neon dark
and we didn’t want to leave.
Elvis knows all about them,
those friends without names,
His image blurs as he sings,
flickering in the small hours
through a silent film of young faces
before he leaves me to my day.
He tells me he’s used to performing
to an audience of one these days.
Really like the surrealism of this, Martin. And the poem does such a lot… brings back the excitement and giddiness of a funfair, the sadness of losing touch with friends; loneliness too. I wonder if you need ‘as a student’ in St.2?
I like the humour in the first stanza and the sadness of the last -those friends without names-
and the washed up Elvis.